r.  PE  CAUF.  LIBRARY,  LOS 


GIBBETED  GODS 


"It  is  not  that,"  Charlotte  repeated  wearily 


GIBBETED  GODS 


BY 

LILLIAN  BARRETT 

AUTHOR  OF  "Tni  SINISTER  REVEL,"  KTC. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1921 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 


PRINTED  IN  U.  S.  A. 


TO  MY  SISTER 
ANITA  BRIENNE 


PART  1 


The  fathers  have  eaten  sour  grapes,  and  the  children's  teeth  are 
set  on  edge, — Ezek.  18:2. 


GIBBETED  GODS 

PART  I 
CHAPTER  I 

CHARLOTTE  breathed  a  deep  sigh  as  she 
settled  into  her  upholstered  corner  and  gave 
herself  up  to  the  luxurious  enjoyment  of  her  religion. 
The  old  colonial  church,  dimmed  to  twilight  softness, 
filled  her  with  a  pleasing  melancholy.  The  low 
tones  of  the  choir  vibrated  with  an  exquisite  sweet- 
ness that  saddened  her.  Charlotte  'liked  being  sad 
and  melancholy  and  thoughtful  and  tired.  She  had 
decided  that  was  the  way  the  religious  chosen,  as 
the  Bible  called  them,  should  feel,  especially  on 
Sundays.  Her  glance  strayed  to  Miss  Seymour,  her 
Sunday-school  teacher,  in  the  opposite  pew. 
Charlotte  thought  Miss  Seymour  very  beautiful  as 
she  sat  there  with  her  face  lifted  to  the  pulpit.  She 
adored  Miss  Seymour,  who  had  been  so  kind  and 
patient  in  explaining  to  her  things  she  did  not  under- 
stand. Charlotte  had  never  been  inside  a  church  or 
a  Sunday-school  till  that  winter,  a  fact  Miss 
Seymour  made  allowance  for.  Not  so  the  children, 
however!  They  had  displayed  a  most  surprising 

3 


4  GIBBETED  GODS 

gaucherie  (Charlotte's  own  word)  and  giggled  and 
poked  one  another  at  her  most  trifling  mistake. 
They  were  very  crude  indeed;  badly  dressed,  too; 
so  Charlotte  had  proceeded  to  snub  them  at  once. 
It  was,  then,  the  desire  to  get  the  best  of  her  fellow 
pupils,  as  well  as  the  wish  to  please  Miss  Seymour, 
that  had  sustained  Charlotte  in  her  winter's  work. 
She  had  studied  hard,  and,  with  the  advantage  of  an 
unusual  intelligence,  had  soon  outstripped  the  others 
in  real  understanding  of  her  subject.  She  had  a 
brain  and  knew  how  to  use  it.  She  was  able,  more- 
over, to  express  herself  in  most  extraordinary  terms 
• — terms,  it  must  be  admitted,  more  continental  then 
orthodox.  Her  career  in  the  little  Sunday-school 
had  been  of  a  meteoric  brilliance,  and  no  one 
appreciated  that  fact  any  more  than  did  Charlotte 
herself.  It  was  of  her  triumphs,  then,  Charlotte 
was  thinking  as  her  eyes  studied  appreciatively  Miss 
Seymour's  fine  profile.  She  was  grateful  to 
Miss  Seymour  for  her  pleasant  experiences ;  she  was 
grateful  also  to  Mr.  Paisley,  the  rector.  It  was  odd 
that  Mr.  Paisley  should  have  taken  it  into  his  head 
to  call  and  suggest  her  joining  the  Sunday-school. 
Yet  how  fortunate;  for  the  winter  would  have  been 
a  lonely  one,  otherwise,  with  her  mother  and  Philip 
and  Cousin  Hendy  all  in  Monte  Carlo !  She  did  n't 
mind  Philip's  being  away,  but  she  had  missed  Paddy 
and  Hendy  so. 


GIBBETED  GODS  5 

At  this  point  in  her  reflections  Charlotte  noticed 
that  Miss  Seymour  sighed  and  closed  her  eyes.  So 
Charlotte  moved  a  little,  sighed,  and  closed  her  eyes. 
Peace  and  quiet;  the  music  lost  in  the  subdued  hush 
of  twilight  shadows!  Again  she  felt  strangely  sad 
and  tremulous  and  wished  vaguely  that  Hendy  were 
there  with  her.  She  imagined  Hendy  would  like 
church,  too. 

Then  she  opened  her  eyes  to  the  colored  window 
over  the  old  altar.  "I  am  the  resurrection,  and  the 
life."  Her  lips  moved  as  she  spelled  it  out.  She 
was  still  not  quite  sure  what  resurrection  meant,  but 
it  did  n't  matter.  She  loved  that  window.  As  the 
afternoon  sun  slanted  through  it,  mellowing  its 
colors  to  a  golden  haze,  the  face  of  the  Christ  seemed 
strangely  real,  strangely  tender;  Charlotte  felt  the 
tears  welling  to  her  eyes.  She  glanced  furtively  at 
Suzanne,  fairly  consistent,  for  a  French  maid,  in 
keeping  her  eyes  closed  during  most  of  the  service. 
Charlotte  dabbed  her  handkerchief  to  her  face.  She 
was,  doubtless,  being  what  Paddy  called  "emotion- 
al." Paddy  had  said  once  it  was  middle-class  to  be 
emotional,  but  Charlotte  always  enjoyed  it.  It 
filled  her  with  a  sense  of  importance.  Her  manipu- 
lation of  her  dainty  mouchoir  grew  less  restrained 
as  she  wondered  if  Miss  Seymour  had  noticed  her. 

There  was  a  faint  stir  among  the  congregation. 
The  music  had  died  away  entirely  now.  Charlotte 


6  GIBBETED  GODS 

sat  erect  as  she  realized  Mr.  Paisley  was  mounting 
the  stairs  of  the  pulpit.  How  handsome  and  slender 
he  was!  How  graceful  as  he  leaned  over  the 
reading-stand !  Charlotte  liked  men  to  be  handsome 
and  graceful  and  slender.  There  was  an  intense 
earnestness  in  his  voice  as  he  began  to  speak : 

"The  fathers  have  eaten  sour  grapes,  and  the 
children's  teeth  are  set  on  edge — " 

Charlotte  sat  very  still,  listening  intently.  She 
was  not  old  enough  to  follow  the  definite  application 
of  the  sermon,  but  so  singularly  sensitive  to 
impression  was  her  mind,  so  over-developed  by  queer 
worldly  contacts,  that  it  grasped  with  startling 
accuracy  the  poignant  message  underlying  the  sur- 
face discussion.  Evil — that  vague,  terrifying  some- 
thing behind  the  bright  energy  of  life — at  last  took 
definite  shape.  Evil  was  wrong  done  to  others; 
evil  was  injustice.  An  infinite  relief  pervaded  her 
childish  soul.  The  sickening  mystery  that  had 
haunted  her  ever  since  she  was  old  enough  to  think 
at  all  was  of  a  sudden  dispelled.  Right  and  wrong 
were  resolved  into  a  simple  matter  of  rule,  like  long- 
division  and  fractions.  Evil  was  wrong  done  to 
others.  By  the  light  of  this  new  interpretation  she 
realized  with  a  certain  sad  satisfaction  that  her 
judgment  of  her  father  had  been  correct.  He  was 
evil.  She  had  seen  him  but  three  times  that  she 
could  recall.  He  had  been  indifferently  kind,  but 


GIBBETED  GODS  7 

she  had  disliked  him  intensely.  Yes,  sne  knew  now, 
her  father  was  evil,  for  he  had  wronged  Paddy. 
How,  she  did  not  know,  but  her  conviction  was  no 
less  strong  for  the  vagueness  of  her  proof.  In  her 
childish  mind  her  father's  defection  loomed  the 
greater  crime  for  the  impossible  perfections  she 
attributed  to  her  mother.  Paddy  was  absolute; 
Paddy  was  supreme.  She  adored  Paddy  madly 
with  the  unswerving  devotion  only  a  child  can  give. 
Yet  there  was  a  peculiar  baffled  quality  in  that 
devotion,  for  she  did  not,  could  not  understand 
Paddy.  She  was  often  very  unhappy  in  Paddy's 
presence ;  even  the  thought  of  her  at  times  evoked  a 
perplexed  sadness.  So  now;  as  she  sat  there  the 
tears  came  and  splashed  down  her  cheeks.  Yes, 
she  was  emotional ;  there  seemed  no  longer  any  doubt 
of  that. 

She  sat  perfectly  still.  Mr.  Paisley  ceased;  the 
choir  began  a  soft  anthem.  Then  suddenly 
Charlotte's  sadness  became  dispelled  and  a  strange 
exaltation  seized  her,  blurred  vaguely  with  the 
resolve  that  she  would  always  be  good.  Gentle 
strains  of  music  floated  across  her  consciousness 
like  wisps  of  cloud  across  a  summer  sky.  She  smiled 
to  herself  happily.  Her  resolve  became  to  her  mind 
symbolic,  as  it  were,  of  the  birth  of  a  higher  self  and 
gave  her  even,  in  her  own  imagination,  a  certain 
ideal  beauty.  She  felt  just  as  the  apostles  must 


8  GIBBETED  GODS 

have  felt  at  Pentecost  when  the  Holy  Ghost  de- 
scended upon  them.  Her  sense  of  importance  was 
equaled  only  by  her  sense  of  responsibility.  The 
high  point  of  the  afternoon's  experience  was  the 
benediction,  the  dramatic  tensity  of  which  Charlotte 
had  never  before  quite  grasped.  A  second's  pause, 
just  long  enough  for  a  passionate  little  prayer  of 
thanks  for  the  light  that  had  been  sent  her,  and  then 
everything  was  all  over.  But  how  supremely  happy 
she  felt ! — happy  in  the  music  and  the  mellow  light 
of  the  old  church,  happy  in  her  adoration  of  Miss 
Seymour  and  Mr.  Paisley,  happy  in  the  Christ  of 
the  window,  happy  in  her  belief  in  God  and  faith 
in  her  own  righteousness. 

She  left  the  church  with  glowing  eyes.  Mr. 
Paisley  was  at  the  door  and  shook  hands  with  her. 
Amenities  were  in  order. 

"Your  mother  is  back?'*  he  questioned  kindly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Charlotte.  She  hesitated  imper- 
ceptibly, weighing  in  her  mind  the  advisability  of 
tendering  an  invitation  to  tea.  Then,  thinking 
better  of  it,  she  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes  with 
a  smile  of  piercing  sweetness.  It  was  exactly  the 
sort  of  smile  she  had  seen  Paddy  achieve  a  dozen 
times  to  cover  an  awkward  situation.  Charlotte  had 
the  pleasing  sense  that  she  herself  did  it  very  well. 
Then  she  passed  on. 

Miss  Seymour  walked  almost  all  the  way  home 


GIBBETED  GODS  g 

with  her.  They  talked  in  low  voices  of  the 
morning's  lesson.  Miss  Seymour's  attitude  seemed 
to  Charlotte  to  have  undergone  the  most  subtle  of 
changes,  as  if  in  some  mysterious  way  she  realized 
the  transformation  in  her  pupil's  soul  and  was  seek- 
ing to  convey  her  appreciation  of  it.  Her  tone 
was  no  longer  that  of  a  preceptor,  but  delicately 
that  of  one  recognizing  equality.  This  revived  in 
Charlotte  her  former  high  mood  of  exaltation,  lost 
temporarily,  it  has  to  be  admitted,  in  her  rather 
mundane  exchange  with  Mr.  Paisley  and  the  result- 
ant satisfaction  in  her  own  savoir  faire.  She  again 
saw  herself  as  one  of  the  chosen  and  felt  to  the  full 
the  weight  of  responsibility  involved.  Her  mood 
differed  little  in  intensity  from  that  originally 
evoked  by  the  twilight  music  and  soft-toned  shadows 
of  the  old  church.  It  differed,  however,  in  that, 
out  in  the  open,  it  took  on  a  practical  turn.  That 
Charlotte  herself  was  good  and  always  would  be  good 
was  fully  established  in  her  mind  as  an  indisputable 
tenet.  The  point  that  struck  her  quite  forcibly  now 
was  the  need  to  turn  that  goodness  to  account — 
round  up,  as  it  were,  some  poor  stray  sheep  and  lure 
him  back  to  fold  comforts  with  a  dazzling  display 
of  gentle  logic.  Her  mind  veered  quite  simply  and 
naturally  in  the  direction  of  her  brother  Philip. 
Her  dislike  for  Philip  was  a  deep-rooted  thing.  He 
tormented  her;  he  used  spurs  on  his  horses;  he  played 


10  GIBBETED  GODS 

poker  on  Sunday.  Charlotte's  eyes  gave  forth  a 
smoldering  light. 

She  held  Miss  Seymour's  hand  a  long  time  as  they 
said  good-by.  A  lingering  farewell  seemed  the 
appropriate  thing  under  the  circumstances.  Char- 
lotte would  have  liked  Miss  Seymour  to  kiss  her  on 
the  forehead, — in  fact,  did  her  best  to  provoke  such 
a  demonstration.  She  stood  on  tiptoe  and  pushed 
back  her  thick  locks  from  her  face  to  indicate  there 
was  room  if  Miss  Seymour  should  feel  so  inclined. 
Miss  Seymour,  however,  contented  herself  with  a 
last  gentle  pressure  of  the  fingers  and  the  parting 
admonition : 

"Go  home  and  rest,  dear.  Remember  it  is  the 
Lord's  day." 

Charlotte  lost  herself  after  that  in  a  sub- 
dued contemplation  of  the  dignity  of  her  lot. 
Suzanne,  meanwhile,  kept  expostulating  with  her 
for  walking  too  fast.  It  was  hot;  Mademoiselle 
would  ruin  her  complexion  in  the  sun.  Then 
suddenly  they  turned  a  corner  to  discover  Philip  in 
his  high  red  dog-cart,  with  Billy  Dunscomb  and  Cass 
Laurence  alounge  at  his  side. 

"Halloa,  Charley!"  shouted  Cass. 

Charlotte  stopped  short  and  blushed  crimson. 
The  flippant  tone  ill  accorded  with  her  Sunday 
mood.  Philip  trailed  his  whip  over  Suzanne's 
cherry-laden  hat;  Suzanne  giggled  ecstatically. 


GIBBETED  GODS  11 

"Get  in;  there  's  lots  of  room!"  cried  Billy,  with 
his  good-natured  square  smile. 

Charlotte  hesitated  weakly. 

"Get  in  or  stay  out,"  put  in  Philip,  impatiently, 
"but  don't  stand  there  like  a  gawk." 

Charlotte's  eyes  blazed.  Under  ordinary  con- 
ditions she  would  have  clambered  into  the  rig  and 
attacked  Philip  with  all  the  fury  of  a  young  pugilist. 
Such  brawls  were  a  part  of  the  daily  schedule,  the 
delight  of  Philip's  friends,  who  provoked  them 
with  conscious  malice.  And  the  odds  were  not  al- 
ways on  Philip's  side! 

Charlotte  took  a  quick  step  forward  and  then 
stopped,  trembling  with  rage.  Philip  let  his  whip 
play  insolently  over  her  bare  legs.  This  seemed  the 
last  ignominy,  for  Charlotte  was  becoming  terribly, 
painfully  conscious  of  those  bare  legs  that  Paddy  in- 
sisted on  covering  so  inadequately  with  socks.  Cass 
began  to  whistle  a  popular  air1.  Charlotte  took 
another  step  forward;  a  row  seemed  inevitable. 

Then  as  she  clenched  her  hands,  she  became 
conscious  of  something  she  was  holding.  A  strange 
thrill  went  through  her  as  she  realized  it  was  her 
prayer-book.  Her  wrath  dropped.  She  relaxed 
and  forced  to  her  lips  a  sweet,  gentle  smile. 

"No,  thank  you,  Philip,"  she  said  quietly.  "I 
prefer  to  walk.  I  don't  believe  in  riding  on 
Sunday." 


j2  GIBBETED  GODS 

A  shout  of  mirth  greeted  her,  but  Charlotte,  still 
impressed  by  her  new  vision  of  higher  things,  rather 
welcomed  the  roar  of  ridicule  as  pointing  the  reality 
of  her  martyrdom.  She  drew  herself  up  and  with 
all  the  dignity  she  could  muster,  despite  the 
consciousness  of  her  dreadful  brown  legs,  she  walked 
away  triumphant. 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  cool  and  restful  in  the  drawing-room; 
yet  the  intense  blue  of  the  pond,  glimpsed 
through  the  long  French  windows,  conveyed  the 
sense  of  the  summer's  heat.  Idle  Ease  (it  was 
Paddy's  choice  of  name)  was  a  charming  place  with 
its  vista  of  pond  and  ocean,  its  stretches  of  green,  its 
unexpected,  disconcerting  nooks  of  brilliant  flowers. 
One  would  never  have  recognized  it  as  the  thor- 
oughly conventional  place  Paddy  had  purchased  ten 
years  before.  But  Paddy  had  the  knack.  She  did  n't 
go  at  things  by  degrees,  a  tentative  flower  garden 
here,  a  new  hedge  there.  Her  methods  were  drastic, 
the  destruction  in  her  wake  as  thorough  and  complete 
as  ever  that  left  by  Oriental  typhoon.  She  rooted 
up;  she  razed;  she  over- rode  'partitions  as  easily  as 
she  did  the  objections  of  her  so-called  "consulting" 
architect.  The  resulting  chaos  was  hideous,  but  it 
was  a  part  of  Paddy's  genius  that  in  that  very  chaos 
she  should  find  her  inspiration.  Her  judgment  was 
as  unerring  in  the  constructive  process  as  in  the 
destructive.  In  her  brilliant,  erratic  way,  quite 
reckless  of  every  practical  consideration,  Paddy 

13 


14  GIBBETED  GODS 

worked  out  her  inner  vision  and  always  with  tri- 
umphant results.  Idle  Ease  was  as  artistic  a 
perfected  whole  as  the  most  exacting  connoisseur 
could  demand. 

John  Henderson  was  alone  in  the  drawing-room. 
He  let  his  eyes  wander  about  with  accurate  appraisal 
of  its  refinements  so  subtly  studied,  its  beauties  so 
unerringly  achieved.  He  loved  that  room  always. 
Usually  in  contemplation  of  its  low-toned  harmony 
he  could  rest  happy  and  contented.  But  to-day, 
pervaded  with  the  atmosphere  of  summer  twilight, 
it  carried  a  strange  sadness,  a  time-worn  dissatis- 
faction, the  ache  of  an  old  regret. 

John  Henderson  had  started  out  in  life,  aquiver 
with  the  creative  instinct,  with  a  supreme  confidence 
in  his  own  destiny.  He  had  meant  to  paint  and 
force  recognition  of  the  power  that  was  indisputably 
his.  But  his  career  had  been  sacrificed  to  the 
demands  of  his  cousin  Paddy,  who,  upon  the  break 
with  her  husband,  had  summoned  him  peremptorily 
to  her  side,  to  straighten  out  the  skein  of  her  marital 
tangles.  So  he  had  perforce  given  up  the  satis- 
faction of  achievement,  the  glow  of  inspiration,  to 
bask  in  the  luxury  of  the  Baird  fortune.  He  was 
indolent;  that  was  the  secret  of  it.  But  to-day, 
somehow,  he  felt  the  stir  of  old  desires,  the  vague 
urgency  of  an  unfulfilled  need.  He  shook  himself 
free  of  his  reverie  at  last  and  rang  for  a  brandy  and 


GIBBETED  GODS  15 

soda.  Then  he  glimpsed  Paddy,  coming  up  the 
slope  from  the  pond,  her  arms  full  of  summer 
flowers.  She  was  in  a  soft  mauve  slink  dress,  a 
large  hat  of  artful  droop  shading  her  eyes  to  dusky 
glow.  She  waved  to  him  as  he  rose  and  strolled 
out  upon  the  terrace. 

His  eyes  followed  her  as  she  came  closer.  Small, 
yet  of  an  attenuated  slenderness,  she  seemed  at  a 
distance  not  more  than  a  girl.  But  one  glance  of 
the  tawny  eyes  with  their  baffling  quality  of  restless 
mockery  and  Paddy  stood  confessed, — a  cynical 
woman  of  thirty-eight,  with  youth  long  since  for- 
feit to  experience.  There  was  that  about  her  every 
movement  that  cried  of  nerves  stretched  to  the  last 
pitch  of  vibration,  that  pointed  an  exquisite 
harmony  sustained  too  long.  She  talked  inces- 
santly, with  a  quick,  altogether  incoherent  but  very 
charming  irrelevance.  She  was  vastly  amusing  with 
a  random  wit,  but  the  cynicism  that  underlay  her 
most  trifling  utterances  had'  a  strange  power  of 
blight.  Her  casual  acquaintances,  however,  diverted 
by  her  scintillations,  had  no  sense  of  the  withered 
trail  her  wild-fire  left  behind.  But  those  who  cared 
for  Paddy  came  to  know  the  truth  inevitably,  though 
with  a  gradual  awakening  to  it.  It  was  only  after 
his  own  ambitions,  hopes,  beliefs  had  perished 
miserably  that  John  Henderson,  himself,  had  real- 
ized the  sweep  of  Paddy's  insidious  influence. 


16  GIBBETED  GODS 

Yet  even  that  would  not  have  mattered,  had  he 
been  sure  that  he  filled  some  genuine  need  in  Paddy's 
life.  But,  despite  her  effusive  revelations,  Paddy 
was  a  being  so  remote  that  to  attribute  to  her  the 
need  of  any  human  tie  was  a  ridiculous  mockery. 
She  had  asked  him  to  stay  and  he  had  stayed  through 
the  years,  but  with  a  quickening  protest  that  his 
own  devotion  to  her  could  evoke  no  answering 
response,  only  a  random  acceptance.  The  part  he 
had  played  in  her  life  was  an  unheroic  one,  to  say 
the  least,  and  he  resented  the  fact  with  a  vague 
bitterness. 

Paddy  smiled  up  at  him  as  she  came  closer.  Her 
eyes  approved  him  as  he  stood  there.  Of  a  smooth 
slendorness  of  structure,  he  gave  the  sense  of  a  fine 
gentility  that  could  flourish  only  in  a  world  sorted 
and  arranged.  This  gentility  was  a  thing  peculiarly 
physical,  yet  extending  to  impalpabilities.  His 
every  movement  produced  the  effect  of  an  expressive 
gesture,  betokening  a  sensibility  too  keen,  an  instinct 
too  refined  for  vulgar  contacts.  Yet  he  indulged 
in  no  striking  deflections  from  ordinary  custom. 
One  had  the  sense  that  it  was  not  what  he  said  or 
did  but  what  he  withheld  that  marked  him  with  his 
sign  of  restrained  quality,  of  tempered  intensity. 

He  forced  himself  to  smile  in  answer  to  Paddy's 
greeting,  but  he  fancied  she  read  his  depression  back 
of  the  effort.  She  struck  a  flippant  vein  perversely. 


GIBBETED  GODS  17 

"Mon  Dieu!"  she  cried,  flinging  herself  on  a 
couch.  "I  am  desolee.  A  cigarette,  please.  Yes, 
a  brandy  and  soda,  too !  My  Hear  man,  such  a  dis- 
aster, such  a  sickening  catastrophe!  Just  ring  for 
Parsons  to  take  these  flowers;  you're  sitting  all 
over  them.  Have  you  heard1?" 

She  gave  him  a  slanting  glint  from  her  dark  eyes 
as  he  lighted  her  cigarette.  He  noted  the  shake  of 
her  hand,  the  slight  nervous  twitch  of  the  muscles 
about  her  mouth  as  he  bent  toward  her.  He  sighed 
involuntarily  and  proceeded  to  take  a  cigarette 
himself. 

"Have  you  heard*?"  she  repeated  a  little  sharply. 

He  shook  his  head.  "Another  onslaught  of 
creditors  *?  There  's  one  about  due,  I  should  say." 

Paddy  laughed. 

"No,  it 's  about  Charley,"  she  explained. 

Hendy  raised  his  eyebrows  in  amusement. 

"Been  beating  up  Suzanne  again1?"  he  asked. 

Paddy  made  a  gesture  of  denial.  Hendy  smiled 
into  her  eyes. 

"Wnat  is  it,  then*?"  he  asked. 

Paddy  inhaled  her  cigarette  deeply  by  way  of 
provoking  suspense.  Then — 

"The  infant  believes  in  God !"  she  brought  out  in 
a  tone  of  mock  tragedy. 

Hendy  laughed.  Paddy  forged  'ahead,  the  col- 
loquial French  in  which  she  usually  expressed  herself 


i8  GIBBETED  GODS 

giving  way  in  her  excitement  to  a  haphazard  English. 

"And  not  only  believes  in  God,  but  the  twelve 
apostles  and  the  Holy  Ghost.  Let 's  see,  did  she 
mention  the  Holy  Ghost?  Yes,  I  believe  she  did. 
Adam  and  Eve,  too !  Now,  Hendy,  something 's  got 
to  be  done.  She  has  to  be  disillusioned  before  it 's 
too  late.  Can't  we  dig  up  an  old  scandal*?  There 
was  some  talk  at  one  time  about  Adam  and  a  woman 
named  Lilith,  but  the  details  have  escaped  me.  I 
could  n't  give  it  to  the  child  offhand.  And  you 
know,  as  to  the  record  of  some  of  the  others-—2' 

Hendy  put  in  a  quick  remonstrance.  You  never 
could  tell  what  liberties  Paddy  would  take  even 
with  the  reputation  of  the  Deity.  Hendy  could 
still  be  nervous  as  to  just  what  she  was  going  to 
say  next. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"Well,"  Paddy  nodded.  "Mr.  Paisley,  the 
rector,  called  soon  after  we  left  last  fall  and  lured 
Charley  to  church.  Thought  she  was  lonely,  I 
suppose — " 

"Perhaps  she  was,"  Hendy  said  quietly,  his  eyes 
steady  in  Paddy's  restless  ones. 

Paddy  saw  fit  to  ignore  this. 

"Of  course  I  had  no  idea  Charley  was  old  enough 
to  get  into  mischief,"  she  went  on  glibly.  "I  must 
talk  to  her,  reason  with  her." 


GIBBETED  GODS  19 

"Go  at  it  gently,  Paddy,"  he  advised.  "She 's  a 
sensitive  youngster." 

Paddy  had  a  sudden  veer. 

"I  had  a  note  from  Mr.  Robinson  yesterday," 
she  said.  "I  forgot  to  tell  you." 

"Bad?"  he  asked. 

"Awful !'  she  ejaculated.  "He  says  we  Ve  got  to 
retrench.  I  shall  buy  out  the  Avenue  stores  to- 
morrow for  fear  the  rumor 's  reached  here.  It 's 
the  only  way  of  quieting  doubt  in  the  minds  of  the 
tradespeople." 

"I  get  my  quarterly  next  week,"  said  Hendy,  a 
slight  bitterness  in  his  tone.  "That  might  cover 
your  paper  bill,  Paddy." 

Paddy  put  a  hand  on  his  for  a  fleeting  second 
and  looked  into  his  eyes.  They  hung  so  just  long 
enough  for  the  old  baffling  mockery  in  hers  to  re- 
assert itself.  Then  she  rose  and,  throwing  away 
her  cigarette,  confessed  frankly  to  a  yawn. 

"It 's  so  hot — mon  Dieu !  Let 's  go  in.  A  cham- 
pagne cup — " 

It  was  characteristic  of  Paddy  that  her  fitful 
energy  could  not  endure  for  long  the  strain  of  any 
one  situation,  no  matter  how  agreeable  that  situation 
in  itself  might  be.  She  was  happy  only  in  a  per- 
petual state  of  motion.  The  whither  and  the  whence 
meant  little  to  her,  but  the  caravan  must  ever  be 


20  GIBBETED  GODS 

on  the  move.  So  she  progressed  from  continent  to 
continent,  or  room  to  room,  as  the  case  might  be. 

Hendy  was  used  if  not  reconciled  to  her  vola- 
tility. He  rose  now  and  followed  her  into  the 
deeper  cool  of  the  drawing-room,  where  she  wan- 
Hered  about,  rearranging  the  flowers  Parsons  had 
distributed  with  provoking  carelessness.  Hendy 
noticed  with  a  dull  pang  how  tired  and  worn  Paddy 
looked  when  her  face  was  in  repose.  Without  the 
bewildering  light  of  her  strange  eyes  to  dazzle  one 
she  looked  ill,  almost  haggard.  With  an  unex- 
pected impulse  he  had  gone  over  and  taken  her 
hands. 

"Paddy,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  real  pain  in 
his  eyes,  "why,  why  do  you  go  on  this  way*?" 

She  tried  to  draw  away  from  him  quickly,  on  the 
defensive  at  once.  But  he  held  her  firmly. 

"You  are  ill;  you  must  take  care  of  yourself. 
Can't  you  see  what  it  means  to  the  rest  of  us — " 

He  spoke  in  a  low,  incisive  voice;  Paddy  smiled 
faintly  as  she  closed  her  eyes  to  the  quiet  intensity 
of  his  plea.  It  was  really  the  first  time  Hendy  had 
ever  asserted  himself  just  that  way.  She  rather 
liked  it.  His  grip  on  her  thin  wrists  was  like  iron. 
Then  she  caught  the  words  "for  Charlotte's  sake." 
With  a  quick  flare  of  anger  she  wrenched  her  hands 
away  from  him,  but  she  had  n't  the  physical  strength 
to  sustain  any  emotion  for  long.  She  made  a  queer 


GIBBETED  GODS  21 

little  grimace  in  his  direction.  He  turned  an'd 
walked  away.  Essentially  controlled  by  inhibition, 
he  regretted  always  his  moments  of  impulse.  Paddy 
struggled  to  say  something,  but  for  once  she  failed 
to  find  the  right  mot.  It  was  for  Hendy  to  loose  the 
tension.  He  turned  about  on  his  heel  and  offered 
her  a  cigarette. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  and  was  grateful  to  him 
that  the  flickering  match  he  held  out  to  her  absorbed 
completely  his  attention. 

Then  suddenly  the  subdued  quiet  of  the  Sunday 
twilight  was  pierced  by  an  enraged  cry  from  the 
billiard-room,  a  cry  blurred  into  a  terrific  commotion 
of  shouts  and  screams.  There  was  a  general  stam- 
peding, a  turning  over  of  chairs,  a  low  laugh,  the 
barking  of  dogs, with  Charlotte's  shrill  voice  rising 
above  the  din  of  confusion. 

Hendy  started  for  the  door  just  as  it  burst 
open  with  fearful  force,  disclosing  a  very  red 
and  disheveled  Charlotte,  with  Philip  in  close  pur- 
suit. Billy  Dunscomb  and  Cass  Laurence  in  noisy 
amusement  brought  up  the  rear,  with  the  dogs  yelp- 
ing and  jumping  about  in  blind  fury.  In  the  pack 
of  cards  Charlotte  hugged  to  her  -bosom  Hendy 
read  the  secret  of  the  fray.  But  before  he  quite 
grasped  the  significance  of  the  scene,  Charlotte  and 
Philip  had  closed  disastrously  in  the  middle  of  the 
room. 


22  GIBBETED  GODS 

Paddy's  laugh  rang  out  as  a  table  went  over,  but 
Hendy  was  angry.  Philip  was  a  sullen  brute;  he 
had  no  business  to  torment  Charlotte.  Hendy  seized 
him  roughly,  and  stood  between  the  two. 

"Let  her  alone,  Philip,"  he  commanded.  Philip 
attempted  a  surly  justification  of  himself.  Char- 
lotte dodged  under  Hendy's  arm  and  gave  Philip  a 
resounding  punch  in  the  stomach.  Old  Man  Blink 
and  the  Rowdy  yelped  in  encouragement  of  their 
mistress's  tactics.  Billy  and  Cass  shouted  loudly. 
It  was  ridiculous.  Even  Philip's  white  heat  faded 
to  reluctant  amusement.  Hendy  seized  Charlotte 
and  held  her,  screaming  and  wriggling,  still  making 
mad  attempts  to  get  at  her  opponent.  Each  feint 
was  greeted  with  a  roar  of  delight  from  Billy  and 
Cass.  Hendy  controlled  his  own  mirth  with 
difficulty. 

Paddy  assumed  a  look  of  deep  reproach. 

"Charley  dear,  what  a  disgraceful  brawl  on  a 
Sunday  afternoon !"  she  remonstrated  gently. 

"He  was  playing  for  money !"  shouted  Charlotte, 
wildly. 

"You  would  n't  have  him  work  for  money !"  put 
in  Paddy,  with  a  knowing  look  in  Billy's  direction. 
Paddy  always  played  up,  or  rather  down,  to  the 
boys'  appreciation  of  her  flippancy ;  they  one  and  all 
adored  her  and  laughed  at  her  every  word  as  'at  a 
master  sally.  She  cheapened  herself  wittingly  in 


GIBBETED  GODS  23 

their  presence,  the  more  so  as  she  knew  this  irritated 
Hendy. 

"It 's  wrong !  wrong !"  said  Charlotte,  now  on  the 
verge  of  tears.  She  recognized  a  certain  quality  in 
her  mother's  tone  that  she  had  come  to  realize  meant 
antagonism  to  herself. 

"It 's  wrong,"  she  reiterated  weakly. 

"But  it 's  pleasant,  my  child,"  nodded  Paddy, 
sagely. 

Charlotte  began  to  tremble  violently  as  Paddy 
turned  to  Cass. 

"Charlotte  's  discovered  there  's  a  God,"  she  ex- 
plained in  mock  confidence.  "It 's  a  trying  period 
for  a  young  person — " 

Hendy  sought  to  intervene,  but  Charlotte's  big 
eyes  were  fixed  on  her  mother. 

"There  is  a  God !"  she  cried  hoarsely. 

"My  poor  dear  child,"  answered  Paddy,  "you  've 
got  to  get  over  that  idea.  No  intelligent  person 
over  seven  ever  believes  there  's  a  God,  any  more 
than  he  believes  there  's  a  Santa  Claus — " 

"Paddy!"  remonstrated  Hendy,  angrily. 

Charlotte  stared,  incredulous.  Again  that  baffled 
discouragement  she  always  felt  in  her  mother's 
presence ! 

"Mr.  Paisley — "  she  gasped. 

"That 's  his  business,  not  his  belief."  Paddy  was 
lucid. 


24  GIBBETED  GODS 

"Miss  Seymour — "  muttered  Charlotte. 

Paddy  laughed. 

"My  blessed  infant,"  she  explained  with  gentle 
patience,  "Miss  Seymour  is  without  a  doubt  in  love 
.with  the  Paisley  creature — " 

A  mean  thrust,  and  no  one  gaged  the  meanness 
df  it  more  accurately  than  Paddy  herself.  But 
there  was  that  in  Hendy's  close-lipped  anger  as  he 
stood  there  trying  to  silence  her  that  goaded  her  on 
to  a  perverse  unreasonableness. 

The  unrestrained  mirth  of  the  boys,  the  covert 
smile  of  the  footman,  seeking  to  bring  order  out  of 
the  chaos  of  overturned  furniture,  showed  Paddy 
that  her  wit  had  scored.  But  the  look  Hendy  be- 
stowed upon  her  as  he  gathered  the  weeping 
Charlotte  in  his  arms  pointed  with  poignant  force 
the  cheapness  of  her  victory. 


CHAPTER  III 

CHARLOTTE  awakened  the  next  morning  with 
a  few  misgivings,  that  was  all.  Her  reactions 
were  healthy  ones.  The  quiet  talk  with  Hendy 
and  a  good  night's  rest  had  succeeded  in  drawing 
the  sting  of  tragedy.  Hendy  had  pointed  out  that 
scenes  of  any  sort  were  in  very  bad  taste,  that 
nothing  could  possibly  justify  a  brawl.  Charlotte 
was  properly  contrite;  a  little  ashamed,  too,  that 
Paddy  should  have  been  a  witness  of  her  misconduct. 
Not  that  Charlotte's  sense  of  a  mission  had  abated 
in  any  way !  Certainly  not !  But  she  must  be  more 
discriminating  of  method  in  future.  With  Paddy's 
words  somewhere  in  the  back  of  her  busy  brain,  she 
unconsciously  dodged  the  thought  of  Mr.  Paisley 
and  Miss  Seymour  as  embodying  another  perplexing 
problem  she  was  not  prepared  to  meet.  So  she 
deliberately  turned  her  mind  to  the  practical  con- 
siderations of  her  toilet.  As  she  sat  in  her  tub, 
watching  Suzanne's  deft  manipulation  of  the 
divers  brushes  and  soaps,  she  wondered  if  Philip 
was  angry.  Then  came  a  sharp  terror.  She  was 
going  to  drive  Philip's  horses  that  afternoon  in  the 

25 


26  GIBBETED  GODS 

horse  show.  Could  Philip  be  poor  sport  enough  to 
throw  her  over  at  the  last  moment'?  Philip  was 
mean  enough  for  anything.  A  nervous  apprehension 
seized  her.  She  found  Suzanne  impudent  when  she 
complained  of  her  slowness.  Susanne  muttered 
things  which  Charlotte  ignored  loftily.  That  was 
the  way  Paddy  acted  toward  refractory  domestics. 

She  went  downstairs  to  find  great  excitement  in 
the  hall.  Philip  in  riding-togs  was  pacing  up  and 
down,  swearing  loudly.  Two  of  the  grooms  were 
arguing  with  him.  One  glimpse  of  their  insolent 
faces  and  all  of  Charlotte's  animosity  toward  her 
brother  was  dissipated.  The  class  instinct,  so 
strong  within  her,  asserted  itself.  She  went  up  to 
him,  slipping  her  arm  in  his,  and  the  two  stood 
boldly  aligned  against  this  outside  force  that  had  so 
unexpectedly  risen  to  threaten  their  position. 

"What  is  it?"  Charlotte  asked  Philip. 

One  of  the  grooms  grinned  foolishly.  Then, 
catching  Paddy's  voice  in  argument  at  a  distance, 
Charlotte  got  the  sordid  truth  of  the  situation. 
Instantly  her  temper  rose  in  fierce  rejection  of  that 
truth.  She  took  a  step  forward,  with  blazing  eyes. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  here*?"  she  cried, 
addressing  the  grooms. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  uneasily, 
obviously  at  a  loss.  It  was  one  thing  to  defy  Mr. 


GIBBETED  GODS  27 

Philip,  quite  another  to  hurt  their  adored  Miss 
Charlotte. 

"Wait  outside,"  commanded  Charlotte  with  a 
fine  imperiousness  and  pointed  to  the  veranda. 

The  two  men  slunk  out  sheepishly. 

"The  damned  insolent  puppies !"  muttered  Philip. 

"What  is  it  about?"  gasped  Charlotte. 

"They  've  attached  the  horses — " 

Paddy's  voice  came  to  them  at  this  point,  pene- 
trating and  shrill : 

"But,  my  dear  man,  it's  simply  preposterous! 
Talk  to  my  lawyer  if  you  must,  but  as  for  annoying 
me  with  details  about  money — Now  do  sit  down  and 
act  like  a  human  being.  Parsons,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  pour  him  some  whisky — " 

One  of  the  footmen  passed  through  the  hall. 
Charlotte  collected  herself  sufficiently  to  make  her 
way  to  the  dining-room.  As  Paddy  had  said  once : 
"Formalities  must  be  observed,  whatever  the  cosmic 
disturbance."  Charlotte  remembered  this  as  she 
seated  herself  at  the  table.  Poor  Paddy!  Char- 
lotte measured  the  hurt  to  her  mother's  pride  by  the 
throb  of  her  own  resentment. 

She  gave  her  orders  coolly,  her  bright  eyes  chal- 
lenging the  thoughts  of  the  servants  who  tended  her. 
She  forced  herself  to  eat,  all  the  while  her  attention 
strained  to  catch  the  slightest  sound  in  the  next  room. 


28  GIBBETED  GODS 

"Of  course — a  check  on  any  bank  you  name. 
London — Paris !  They  all  know  me.  I  'm  on 
dining  terms  with  every  bank  president  on  the  Con- 
tinent. Bank  presidents — charming  men  as  a  rule !" 

"I  wish  to  God  Paddy  would  n't  make  such  a  fool 
of  herself,"  muttered  Philip  as  he  came  into  the 
room,  but  Charlotte  did  not  hear.  The  next  minute 
Paddy  put  her  head  in  at  the  door,  and,  with  an 
inimitable  little  grimace  that  marked  her  as 
thoroughly  enjoying  the  situation,  she  said: 

"Philip,  would  you  mind  finding  Hendy? 
There  's  a  really  charming  man  here  named  Sullivan 
I  'm  sure  he  'd  enjoy  meeting." 

Hendy  had  that  very  minute  put  in  a  rather  be- 
wildered appearance  at  the  French  window.  Paddy 
buttonholed  him  and  with  many  incoherent  expla- 
nations and  a  deal  of  by-play  led  him  back  to  the 
drawing-room. 

"A  really  absorbing  gentleman,  Hendy.  There  's 
much  we  can  learn  from  him.  He  tells  me  my 
checks  are  no  good.  Now,  fancy  that!  Mr. 
Sullivan,  this  is  my  cousin,  Mr.  Henderson.  Yes, 
do  have  another  drink.  My  whisky  is  good,  if  my 
credit  is  n't." 

A  few  minutes  later  Charlotte  heard  Hendy's 
restrained  laugh,  then  a  voice  she  adjudged  be- 
longing to  the  Sullivan.  Mr.  Sullivan  had  been 
incited  by  Paddy  to  tell  an  anecdote.  He  must 


GIBBETED  GODS  29 

have  told  it  well,  from  the  warm  response  it  evoked ; 
Paddy  laughed  uncontrollably.  Charlotte  felt 
better. 

Then  Paddy  was  moved  to  admit  things  frankly 
to  Mr.  Sullivan.  She  confessed  with  charming  sim- 
plicity to  her  extravagance.  She  never  could  resist 
pretty  clothes;  but,  after  all,  why  should  she?  A 
woman's  mission  in  life  was  to  wear  pretty  clothes 
even  if  she  couldn't  afford  to  pay  for  them.  But  as 
to  that,  /Re  was  perfectly  safe. 

"Hendy,  do  tell  the  dear  man  about  the  Bairds 
and  the  Warrens.  The  Bairds  are  my  husband's 
people,  the  Warrens  my  own.  Considerate,  all  of 
them,  to  a  degree.  Every  time  I  get  in  a  tight  place 
for  funds  some  dear  old  spinster  aunt  in  the  Virginia 
wilds  dies,  and  there  you  are !  I've  had  one  fortune 
from  Aunt  Susan,  another  from  Uncle  Merrylegs,  a 
third — Hendy,  you  give  him  the  details.  There 
are  a  half-dozen  others  left.  I  '11  give  you  a  note 
payable  within  thirty  days  of  the  death  of  (any  of 
the  sweet  old  things  you  happen  to  pick — which 
reminds  me — " 

A  racy  little  anecdote  of  Monte  Carlo  followed; 
Mr.  Sullivan  came  back  with  a  Fall  River  experience. 
Hendy  strolled  into  the  dining-room  at  this  point. 

"It  Js  quite  all  right,  darling,"  he  said  to  Charlotte, 
touched  by  the  anxiety  an'd  worry  in  her  eyes.  "It 's 
a  dreadful  mistake,  that 's  all.  Run  up  and  get  into 


30  GIBBETED  GODS 

your  riding-things;  we'll  take  a  little  canter  this 
morning  to  get  you  limbered  up — " 

It  was  quite  all  right,  as  events  proved.  Mr. 
Sullivan  was  brought  to  gracious  terms.  Paddy  was 
not  the  "damned  fool"  her  son  thought  her.  The 
public  at  large,  the  tradespeople,  considered  her 
crazy  and  she  knew  it.  It  was  for  her  to  make 
capital  of  their  opinion. 

"Unlimited  money  there,"  so  her  creditors  pro- 
nounced, "but  she  so  woefully  mismanages  it." 

An  occasional  attachment  occurred,  ending  in  glib 
promises  on  Paddy's  part,  but  she  was  pretty 
generally  'left  alone. 

So  now,  when  she  babbled  of  the  three  or  four 
fortunes  she  had  played  ducks  and  drakes  with,  and 
the  three  or  four  more  she  intended  with  good  faith 
to  do  the  same  by,  Mr.  Sullivan  considered  the  only 
gentlemanly  thing  to  do  was  to  withdraw.  Besides, 
there  was  the  matter  of  the  whisky.  Paddy  had 
offered  to  send  a  bottle  or  two  to  his  rooms. 

"A  woman  who  knows  good  whisky  when  she  sees 
it  must  be  sound,"  he  argued  with  true  Celtic  logic, 
and  so  the  matter  ended. 

"The  horses  are  yours,"  Paddy  remarked  gaily 
to  Philip  as  she  met  him  in  the  hall  afterward. 
"Make  the  most  of  them.  We  may  have  to  kill  and 
eat  the  sweet  pets  before  long." 

Paddy  was  exultant.     Encounters  of  this  sort, 


GIBBETED  GODS  31 

spurring  her  on  to  tricky  manoeuver,  acted  like  tonic 
to  her  nerves.  The  quick  of  her  sensitiveness  had 
long  since  been  covered  by  a  thick-skinned  satisfac- 
tion in  her  ability  as  a  wily  strategist.  With  Char- 
lotte it  was  different.  A  fierce  pride  was  the  dom- 
inating note  of  her  nature,  a  pride  that  could  ill 
brook  concession  to  anything  less  fine  than  itself. 
The  scene  with  Mr.  Sullivan  was  the  first  one  of  the 
sort  the  significance  of  which  Charlotte  had  fully 
grasped.  Her  mother  had  been  obliged  to  make 
compromise  with  some  one  beneath  her.  Charlotte's 
mortification  took  the  form  of  a  violent  defiance  di- 
rected against  the  world  at  large,  which,  in  her  youth- 
ful unreason,  she  held  to  be  maliciously  responsible 
for  her  chagrin.  The  result  achieved  by  the  morn- 
ing's ride  with  Hendy  was  the  dogged  determination 
to  put  the  world  in  its  place.  Just  how,  Charlotte  did 
not  know;  her  mind  in  its  seething  state  of  protest 
could  not  as  yet  be  brought  to  focus. 

Only  as  she  cantered  into  the  exhibit  ring  at  the 
Casino  that  afternoon  did  she  see  her  particular 
opportunity.  She  surmised  shrewdly  from  the  titter 
of  recognition  that  greeted  her  that  the  incident  of 
the  morning  had  leaked  out.  Poor  Paddy!  Well, 
it  was  for  Charlotte  to  point  how  little  any  material 
consideration  could  affect  the  Baird  spirit.  She 
reined  in  her  horse  and  with  dignified  self-posses- 
sion walked  him  about  the  ring,  conscious  to  the 


32  GIBBETED  GODS 

full  of  the  perfect  fit  of  her  riding-habit,  her  nice 
control  of  the  horse's  every  move.  Not  a  detail  of 
the  scene  escaped  her, — the  gay  blur  of  the  boxes, 
the  crowds  of  soberer  hue  pressed  so  eagerly  against 
the  rail,  the  scattered  grooms  adjusting  the  hurdles. 
She  got  all  the  thrill  of  the  music  with  its  provocative 
syncopation  and  lively  lilt. 

The  horses  were  called  in  to  the  center  of  the  ring, 
Charlotte  slipped  from  her  saddle,  ran  her  eyes  with 
critical  coolness  over  the  horses  near  her,  and 
then  waited.  Her  erect  little  figure  might  have 
been  that  of  a  boy  as  she  stood  there.  The  brown 
of  her  habit  toned  perfectly  with  the  brown  of  her 
skin  and  hair.  Several  of  the  judges  strayed  to  her 
side,  with  approving  glance. 

The  first  two  or  three  jumpers  had  but  indifferent 
success.  Then  came  Dolly  Laurence,  Cass's  cousin. 
Charlotte  had  always  spurned  Dolly  as  a  companion; 
partly  because  Dolly  did  not  know  how  to  "play" 
in  Charlotte's  athletic  sense  of  the  word;  partly, 
too,  it  must  be  admitted,  because  Dolly  in  her  repu- 
tation as  first  heiress  of  the  land  stirred  Charlotte  to 
a  stubborn  jealousy.  Paddy  had  sought  to  promote 
a  friendship  between  the  two;  Charlotte  had  been 
polite  but  cold. 

She  noticed  now  with  a  certain  satisfaction  as 
Dolly's  number  was  called  that  Dolly  took  her  saddle 
with  a  deplorable  lack  of  ease.  Her  blond  curls 


GIBBETED  GODS  33 

fluttered  in  the  breeze  and  she  sat  stiffly,  looking  for 
all  the  world  like  a  wide-eyed  doll.  She  was 
obviously  terrified  and  managed  to  communicate  her 
terror  to  the  horse,  for  each  time  a  hurdle  was  dis- 
covered in  his  path  he  balked  miserably.  The  spec- 
tators laughed  in  a  kindly  way;  Dolly's  feelings 
were  hurt.  A  second  later  she  was  ignominiously 
given  the  gate,  and  before  Charlotte  could  quite 
make  up  her  mind  whether  she  was  glad  or  sorry, 
she  heard  her  own  number  called. 

The  murmur  of  the  crowd  that  had  so  frightened 
poor  Dolly  spurred  Charlotte  to  spectacular  efforts. 
She  swung  into  her  saddle,  sauntered  easily  about  the 
ring,  and  then  put  her  horse  with  a  quick  spurt 
straight  at  the  highest  hurdle.  The  startled  gasp 
of  the  onlookers  broke  to  a  shout  of  bewildering 
applause  that  swelled  louder  and  louder  as,  without  a 
second's  respite,  Charlotte  and  her  horse  swept 
around  the  ring,  taking  one  hurdle  after  another  with 
the  abandon  of  a  superb  control.  A  remarkable  spec- 
tacle that  brought  the  most  indifferent  to  his  feet, 
shouting  unqualified  approval.  Charlotte's  triumph 
was  complete.  She  had  forced  from  that  gaping 
audience  a  recognition  of  her  powers;  Paddy  had 
been  avenged. 

A  groom  had  been  despatched  to  call  her  in.  She 
glimpsed  Philip  and  Billy  by  the  gate,  shrieking 
like  maniacs.  Then  there  was  Paddy  in  a  front  box, 


34  GIBBETED  GODS 

nodding  her  head  in  amused  approval,  with  Hendy 
by  her  side,  a  little  strained  and  white.  Buchanan 
Laurence,  Dolly's  father,  was  in  the  ring  and 
hastened  to  her  side  with  boisterous  congratulations. 
The  music  started  up  again;  Charlotte  got  her  blue 
ribbon  amidst  vociferous  applause.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  gate  and  rode  slowly  out.  Here  again, 
the  center  of  a  noisy  throng,  she  got  the  satisfied  sense 
of  her  success.  It  was  with  a  genuine  feeling  of  pity 
that  she  could  meet  Dolly,  who  had  struggled 
through  the  crowd  to  her  side. 

"Father  says  my  horse  is  much  better  than  yours," 
she  wailed,  clinging  to  Charlotte's  hand,  "but  I  'm 
such  a  damned  bad  rider." 

Billy  and  Phil  quite  broadly  laughed  at  her ;  Dolly 
began  to  cry.  Charlotte  put  her  arms  about  the 
poor  little  thing.  This  glimpse  of  a  new  Dolly — a 
trembling,  weak,  fearful  Dolly — was  of  an  un- 
expected appeal.  Instead  of  stigmatizing  her  as  a 
"cry-baby,"  Charlotte  felt  an  unexpected  stir  of  the 
instinct  of  protection.  She  and  Dolly  left  the  show 
that  night  hand  in  hand,  their  friendship  in  full 
flower.  The  acquisition  of  a  girl  friend  was  the 
crowning  point  of  Charlotte's  day. 

The  next  two  days  were  happy  ones  for  Charlotte. 
Her  momentary  animosity  toward  the  world  at  large 
merged  with  her  continuous  success  into  a  genial 
warmth  of  regard  for  everybody.  As  she  walked 


GIBBETED  GODS  35 

through  the  crowded  boxes,  she  was  met  on  all  sides 
by  smiles  and  bows  and  nods  of  approval.  Her 
every  entrance  to  the  ring  was  greeted  with 
enthusiastic  acclaim.  She  had  the  satisfied  sense  of 
doing  something  well  and  adored  the  general 
adulation.  The  three  days  of  the  show  were  bril- 
liant ones.  She  offered  the  last  day  to  ride  one  of 
Dolly's  horses,  taking  the  championship  against 
Philip's  "Lassie."  Dolly's  blue-eyed  gratitude  quite 
offset  Philip's  anger,  and  evoked  in  Charlotte  a 
pleasing  melancholy,  born  of  self-sacrifice. 

Paddy  was  giving  a  dinner  the  last  night  of  the 
show  for  Philip's  young  friends. 

Paddy's  relation  to  society  was  exactly  what  she  in 
her  perversity  had  chosen  to  make  it.  As  Patricia 
Warren,  the  charming  if  somewhat  erratic  young 
Southern  heiress,  she  had  been  able  to  dictate  her 
own  terms.  Then  had  come  the  disconcerting 
marriage  with  George  Baird.  To  be  sure,  the  Bairds 
had  plenty  of  money, — position,  too,  for  that  mat- 
ter,— but  George  with  his  sullen  temper  and  rather 
brutish  crudities  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  one 
would  have  connected  up  with  the  dainty  Patricia. 
Perhaps  it  was  simply  that  Paddy  had  tired  of  the 
exacting  surveillance  of  her  divers  relatives,  to 
whom  she  in  her  tender  orphanage  had  been  in- 
trusted, and  had  plunged  into  a  random  matrimony 
for  the  sake  of  a  larger  freedom.  Certainly, 


36  GIBBETED  GODS 

subsequent  events  would  argue  the  marriage  not 
a  romantic  one,  for  Paddy  had  behaved  abominably 
from  the  very  beginning,  so  mismanaging  her  im- 
proprieties that  they  could  be  construed  only  as  a 
direct  defiance  of  opinion,  a  sort  of  flippant 
bravado  toward  those  it  should  have  been  her 
part,  as  an  indiscreet  young  wife,  to  conciliate. 
Paddy's  misdemeanors  did  not  hold  together; 
it  was  this  Society  was  reluctant  to  forgive. 
Still,  Paddy  was  diverting.  Had  she  shown,  upon 
her  return  to  Newport  following  the  break  with  her 
husband,  the  slightest  contrition  for  her  defiance. 
Society  with  inconsequent  magnanimity  would  have 
folded  her  to  its  bosom.  But  Paddy  was  reported 
as  saying  in  all  flippancy  that  she  had  n't  the  slight- 
est intention  of  playing  the  part  of  the  returned 
prodigal,  that  she  preferred  roast  pig  every  time  to 
fatted  calf.  All  tentative  advances  ceased  after  that 
and  Paddy  was  let  alone. 

With  the  younger  generation,  however,  it  was 
different.  Philip  /'was  a  handsome  boy.  As  for 
Charlotte,  with  her  brown  hair  and  legs  and  eyes, 
she  promised  to  make  interesting  reading  for  some 
youth  in  the  not  very  distant  future.  Thus,  juvenile 
Newport  was  suffered  to  patronize  the  Baird  parties 
without  compromising  the  dignity  of  their  elders. 
The  parties  were  overwhelmingly  popular,  with  a 
splash  and  dash  and  brilliant  queerness  all  their 


GIBBETED  GODS  37 

own.  It  was  for  Paddy  to  create  'an  atmosphere  of 
ebullient  irresponsibility;  the  young  people  reacted 
with  abandon. 

Dolly  was  permitted  to  stay  -all  night  with 
Charlotte,  and  the  two  children,  eager-eyed  and 
excited,  sat  up  till  eleven.  Some  of  the  boys,  when 
they  happened  to  think  about  it,  took  occasion  to 
dance  with  them,  and  in  a  snake-dance  that  was 
instituted  later  the  two  were  carried  high  in  the  air 
at  the  head  of  the  procession.  When  the  leaders 
began  a  sortie  out  on  the  lawn,  taking  hedge  and 
flower  garden  alike  as  hurdles,  Hendy  saw  fit  to 
interfere. 

Paddy  was  in  her  element,  darting  here  and  there 
like  a  firefly.  The  musicians  were  in  high  spirits; 
the  music  was  continuous.  So,  too,  the  popping  of 
the  champagne  corks.  It  was  a  glorious  night,  the 
full  moon  flinging  a  yellow  light  over  everything, 
house  and  gardens,  pond  and  ocean.  Charlotte 
sought  out  Hendy  on  the  terrace. 

"You  like  it,  Mignon*?"  he  smiled. 

Charlotte  threw  her  arms  about  him  and  confessed 
herself  ecstatic.  She  pointed  to  the  moon.  Dolly 
had  joined  them  now,  a  little  bewildered  and  with 
sash  awry.  She  volunteered  the  information  that 
Philip  had  given  her  some  champagne  and  she  was 
'pompette. 

Hendy  was  disconcerted;  he  sought  out  Paddy. 


38  GIBBETED  GODS 

A  few  minutes  later  Suzanne  rounded  up  her  young 
charges  and  led  them  to  the  upper  regions.  She 
showed  unpleasant  signs  of  a  giggling  garrulity. 
Dolly  nudged  Charlotte,  but  Charlotte  had  only  a 
quick  impatience  at  Suzanne's  maunderings  and  dis- 
missed her  curtly  when  the  essentials  of  the  toilet 
were  over.  The  Rowdy  was  consigned  to  Dolly; 
Charlotte  cradled  Old  M'an  Blink  in  her  arms. 
Then  she  and  Dolly  settled  to  bed  and  the  delight 
of  intimate  confidence.  They  talked  a  queer 
mixture  of  French  and  English  that  but  accen- 
tuated their  childish  irrelevance.  Frocks  and  hats, 
the  horse  show,  ice-cream  flavors,  and  other  scatter- 
ing topics  of  general  interest  came  first.  Then,  the 
faint  rosy  glow  of  the  night  lamp  between  them 
inviting  deeper  revelation,  they  came  around  to  the 
intensely  personal. 

Charlotte  sought  to  convey  to  Dolly  something  of 
her  recent  religious  experiences,  but  Dolly's  wide 
blue  eyes  failed  of  the  right  response.  So  Charlotte 
veered  tactfully  and  talked  in  low  tones  of  her 
cievotion  to  Paddy.  She  adored  Paddy  above  every- 
thing else  in  the  world.  Paddy  was  perfect; 
Paddy  was  supreme.  Dolly's  cue  was  to  lament 
pathetically  that  she  had  no  mother.  Then  by  a 
primitive  sequence  they  began  to  touch  on  the  sub- 
ject of  fathers.  Dolly  said  her  father  was  indiffer- 
ent to  her.  This  wrung  from  Charlotte  a  protest, 


GIBBETED  GODS  39 

"Oh,  no!"  Upon  seeing  the  sentimental  satisfaction 
Dolly  took  in  the  alleged  neglect,  however,  she 
corrected  it  hastily  to  "How  terrible !" 

Charlotte  went  on  to  say  she  had  seen  her 
own  father  only  a  few  times,  but  she  was  sure  he 
was  a  bad  man.  Dolly  was  eager  for  details. 

Charlotte  knew  none,  but  said  she  suspected  he 
drank.  Whereupon  Dolly  came  back  with  the  sur- 
prising statement  that  her  mother  would  have  been 
alive  to-day  if  she  had  let  alcohol  alone.  The 
phraseology  was  too  glib  to  be  Dolly's  and  Charlotte 
realized  it. 

She  stared  incredulous.  Then — "How  did  you 
know?"  she  asked  sharply. 

Dolly  was  prompt  of  reply.  She  had  heard  one 
of  the  grooms  tell  one  of  the  maids.  Charlotte  felt 
a  strange  shake  of  her  nerves,  an  overwhelming  sense 
of  the  all-wrongness  of  it.  Yet  the  significance  of 
the  terrible  fact  presented  impressed  her  childish 
mind  less  than  did  the  idea  of  poor  little  Dolly  being 
dependent  on  her  servants  for  her  information.  She 
herself  had  been  taught  never  to  listen  to  the  gossip 
of  domestics.  Her  pity  for  Dolly  was  the  deeper 
in  that  she  realized  of  a  sudden  her  own  advantage 
in  having  Paddy  to  guide  her.  Poor  Dolly!  She 
must  help  Dolly,  make  her  understand  better  things. 
Her  resolutions  seethed  even  as  she  controlled  herself 
to  change  the  subject.  She  asked  Dolly  if  she  liked 


40  GIBBETED  GODS 

to  read;  Dolly's  interest  in  literature  was  an  apa- 
thetic one.  Charlotte  quoted  a  few  lines  from  the 
"Ode  to  the  West  Wind,"  which  Hendy  had  taught 
her.  A  dissertation  on  Dickens  was  interrupted  by 
Dolly,  stating  languidly  that  she  was  in  love  with 
Philip. 

Charlotte  was  amazed;  falling  in  love  was  a 
process  she  had  connected  in  her  mind  only  with  those 
of  riper  years.  She  could  meet  Dolly's  startling 
statement  only  by  attacking  her  particular  choice. 

"But  Philip  is  horrid"  she  said  incisively.  "He 
plays  poker  on  Sunday." 

Dolly's  eyes  opened  wider. 

"But  everybody  plays  poker  on  Sunday/'  she 
brought  out  with  childish  logic. 

"That  does  n't  make  it  any  more  right,"  said 
Charlotte,  sententiously.  She  was  conscious  as  she 
said  this  that  she  had  uttered  something  good,  some- 
thing that  would  have  wrung  approval  from  Mr. 
Paisley  and  Miss  Seymour — even  from  Paddy. 

Dolly,  not  being  strong  on  ethics,  yawned 
clelicately.  The  Rowdy  stirred  uneasily  as  if  in  the 
throes  of  a  bad  dream;  then,  putting  back  his  ears, 
he  emitted  a  dismal  wail.  Dolly  gave  a  scream. 
Old  Man  Blink  awoke  in  protest  and  barked 
savagely.  Old  Man  Blink  was  gentle  as  a  rule; 
only  disturbance  of  his  rest  could  arouse  him  to  fits 
of  high  passion.  Dolly  gave  the  Rowdy  a  sharp 


GIBBETED  GODS  41 

little  whack.  Charlotte  cuddled  Blinky  to  silence. 
Then  both  children  smothered  their  laughter  and 
listened. 

The  revelry  was  still  going  on  below-stairs. 
Muffled  music  could  be  heard ;  the  occasional  crunch 
of  gravel  outside  as  some  fugitive  couple  sought  the 
silence  of  the  mellowing  night. 

"What  time  is  it?'  asked  Dolly. 

"Two  o'clock,"  said  Charlotte,  consulting  her 
little  jeweled  watch  on  the  night  table. 

A  burst  of  laughter  scattered  to  them  from  below. 

"I  wish  I  was  grown  up,"  Dolly  sighed  pensively. 

Charlotte  considered  this.  No,  she  was  glad  she 
was  little.  It  was  as  if  the  future  held  so  much  in 
store  she  wanted  years  and  years  in  which  to  get 
ready  for  it  all.  She  intended  her  life  to  be  packed 
full  of  things.  She  thought  of  how  big  the  world 
was,  of  the  strange  people  and  queer  lands  that 
Paddy  talked  about.  Paddy  had  been  everywhere; 
she,  too,  would  go  everywhere.  But  this  strange, 
tremulous  expectation,  evoked  by  the  thought  of 
the  future,  was  of  a  subtlety  that  did  not  lend  itself 
to  words.  Charlotte  'did  not  attempt  to  explain  to 
the  little  Dolly,  for  she  knew  of  a  certainty  Dolly 
would  never  understand.  With  the  conscious  art 
of  a  true  hostess  she  brought  the  conversation  down 
to  Dolly's  level. 

"So  you  are  in  love  with  Philip1?"  she  queried 


42  GIBBETED  GODS 

gently.  It  was  exactly  the  tone  she  had  heard 
Paddy  use  to  keep  up  the  conversation  with  some 
very  dull  tea  guest. 

"Madly!"  answered  Dolly,  rousing  herself  from 
a  second's  doze. 

Details  were  in  order.  Dolly  had  at  her 
command  a  number  of  very  telling  phrases,  which 
she  strung  along  together  with  extreme  artless- 
ness.  Again  Charlotte  made  a  shrewd  guess  as  to 
the  origin  of  J)olly's  expressions,  and  again  she 
felt  the  welling  of  a  great  pity  for  her  in  her  help- 
lessness. She  listened  with  a  compassionate  indul- 
gence. \ 

Dolly  babbled  of  beating  hearts  and  romantic 
dreams  and  love  tokens.  Her  weak  little  voice 
grew  weaker  as  she  talked  on ;  then  at  the  top  point 
of  a  declaration  of  intensely  amorous  nature  the 
little  voice  ceased  entirely  and  Dolly  sank  into 
slumber. 

Charlotte  smiled  to  herself,  as  her  eyes  rested 
tenderly  on  her  little  friend.  Dolly  made  a 
beautiful  picture  as  she  lay  there,  exquisite,  fragile, 
her  delicate  childish  face  crowned  with  its  halo 
of  golden  curls.  Her  blue  silk  negligee  with  its 
ermine  collar  was  pushed  aside;  one  lovely,  small 
but  perfect  shoulder  was  disclosed,  free  of  its  lacy 
fetters. 

Charlotte  got  up  softly  and,  bending  over  Dolly, 


GIBBETED  GODS  43 

extricated  the  Rowdy  from  her  unresisting  arms. 
The  door  opened  quietly  and  Hendy  tiptoed  in. 
Charlotte  put  her  finger  to  her  lips.  Hendy  smiled 
at  the  scene  that  met  his  eyes.  Charlotte  handed 
him  the  sleepy  Rowdy,  the  sleepier  Blink,  and 
indicated  their  baskets.  Then  she  tucked  Dolly 
in  with  care. 

"Isn't  she  lovely1?"  she  whispered,  gazing  at  her 
with  rapt  admiration.  "I  love  people  to  be  beauti- 
ful; I  love  them  to  be  like  pictures." 

Then,  slipping  her  hand  into  Hendy's,  she  gazed 
up  at  him  with  a  strange  wistfulness. 

"Hendy,"  she  whispered,  "I  should  like  so  much 
to  be  able  to  paint.  I  should  like  to  paint  Dolly." 

Hendy  had  only  a  second's  pause  for  this.  Then, 
"You  will  get  cold,  sweetheart !"  he  said  hurriedly, 
and  taking  her  in  his  arms  carried  her  to  her  own 
bed.  She  was  sleepy  now  and  admitted  it.  He 
kissed  her  and  turned  out  the  light.  Old  Man 
Blink  got  up  in  a  last  tired  protest,  walked  around 
in  a  circle,  and  flopped  down  with  a  heavy  thud. 
Then,  with  a  sigh  of  world-weariness,  he  settled 
to  the  darkness  and  oblivion. 


CHARTER  IV 

AFTER  the  horse-show  party  things  went  very 
rapidly  in  the  Baird  household.  A  rumor  that 
George  Baird  had  suffered  heavy  losses  in  a  recent 
wheat  deal  brought  to  life  a  swarm  of  creditors 
with  unbelievable  powers  of  buzz. 

"Keep  them  moving  and  they  can't  settle  to 
sting,"  Paddy  cried,  and  sought  to  distract  them 
individually.  She  snubbed,  she  bantered,  she 
cajoled,  she  flattered.  She  played  one  against  the 
other,  thereby  robbing  them  of  the  power  that  would 
have  been  so  fatally  theirs  had  they  been  sensible 
enough  to  hang  together.  Paddy  enjoyed  the  game 
thoroughly.  Hendy  went  about  with  a  worried 
look  and  attempted  to  make  suggestions,  which 
usually  died  in  utterance. 

"You  poor  dear  thing!"  Paddy  would  exclaim. 
"You  know  as  much  about  business  as  the  Rowdy, 
so  do  keep  out.  I  'm  continually  tripping  over  you 
at  critical  moments." 

Philip  stormed  in  and  out,  abusing  his  mother. 

"But  everything  will  turn  out  all  right!"  Paddy 
kept  reiterating,  and  despatched  a  dozen  more 

44 


GIBBETED  GODS  45 

telegrams  of  erratic  appeal  to  divers  Warrens  and 
Bairds,  as  yet  not  fully  exploited. 

Mr.  Robinson  made  his  client  a  hurried  visit; 
presented  arguments  backed  with  figures. 

"But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  sell  something — stocks, 
bonds,  anything!"  Paddy  directed  with  asperity. 
"This  is  getting  on  my  nerves.  They  won't  even 
trust  us  for  a  yeast-cake  down-town." 

Mr.  Robinson  sought  to  explain,  but  Paddy 
made  it  clear  his  explanations  were  tedious.  She 
made  one  concession,  however,  to  his  agitated  ear- 
nestness. She  agreed  to  stay  in  Newport  for  the 
winter  and  retrench.  On  the  strength  of  this,  Mr. 
Robinson  could  talk  reason  to  her  importunate 
creditors.  So,  eventually,  matters  were  again 
adjusted,  settlements  guaranteed.  Paddy  signed 
her  name  indiscriminately  to  everything  Mr.  Robin- 
son gave  her  to  sign,  made  blithe  oral  promises, 
and  then,  with  as  complete  a  satisfaction  as  if  the 
disagreeable  incident  were  really  closed,  she  looked 
about  for  something  to  divert  her  in  the  winter 
months  that  stretched  so  bleakly  ahead.  A  few 
partitions  were  discovered,  in  the  tearing  down  of 
which  her  restless  energy  found  a  happy  outlet. 
Then  there  was  the  matter  of  the  chimney  she  had 
built  in  the  northeast  wing  of  the  house.  She  had 
always  wanted  to  try  a  particular  type  of  Nor- 
wegian fireplace,  in  the  achievement  of  which  a 


46  GIBBETED  GODS 

special  chimney  was  necessary.  The  winter  months 
offered  fine  opportunity  for  experiment.  She  added 
a  nectarine  house  to  the  already  lavish  array  of 
greenhouses.  All  in  all,  Paddy  made  rather  an 
amusing  go  of  the  winter.  Then  in  April  came  the 
news  of  the  death  of  Uncle  Peter  Warren.  It  was 
with  a  wicked  glint  of  satisfaction  that  Paddy 
telegraphed  Kurzman  for  her  mourning,  the  White 
Star  Line  for  an  early  booking. 

"Have  you  any  idea  how  much  it  will  mean  to 
you*?"  Hendy  ventured. 

"At  least  enough  to  get  out  of  Newport!" 
answered  Paddy,  carelessly,  and,  with  a  fine  dis- 
regard of  particulars,  let  it  go  at  that. 

The  winter  had  been  a  very  gay  one  for  Charlotte, 
in  happy  contrast  to  the  loneliness  of  the  preceding 
one,  which  she  had  spent  by  herself.  To  have  Paddy 
with  her  for  so  long  a  stretch  seemed  an  unbelievably 
precious  boon.  Philip,  Billy,  and  Cass  were  at 
St.  George's,  including  Charlotte  and  Hendy  in 
all  their  sports.  Storm  after  storm  piled  the  snow 
to  deeper  drifts,  with  the  result  of  the  most  breath- 
less coasting,  the  maddest  skiing.  Charlotte  was 
of  an  astounding  vigor  and  daring.  Yet  she  never 
hesitated  for  an  instant  to  forego  her  sport  to  walk 
by  the  side  of  Dolly's  sle'd  whenever  Dolly  put  in 
an  appearance.  Dolly  had  been  left  in  Newport 
for  her  health. 


GIBBETED  GODS  47 

"It  will  do  her  good  to  rough  it  for  a  winter," 
Buchanan  Laurence  had  said  with  conviction. 

Roughing  it,  in  Dolly's  sense,  consisted  of 
getting  up  about  noon  and  then  being  drawn  on  her 
sled  up  and  down  some  nicely  graduated  walk 
with  two  maids  attendant.  The  very  sight  of  a 
big  double-runner  whizzing  by  at  top  speed  brought 
Dolly  a  shiver  of  fear  and  made  her  dizzy.  Dolly's 
attitude  toward  Charlotte,  now  that  the  horse  show 
had  faded  into  the  dimness  of  things  past,  had 
undergone  a  perceptible  change.  It  is  possible  she 
had  heard  rumors  of  the  Bairds'  financial  straits, 
for  her  domestics  were  ever  conscientious  of  report. 
But,  whatever  the  cause,  there  was  a  languid 
superiority  in  Dolly's  air.  Hendy  resented  this, 
but  said  nothing  to  Charlotte,  as  he  had  come  to 
guess  the  value  she  so  naively  set  upon  the  new 
friendship.  This  friendship  had,  in  a  way,  sup- 
planted the  religious  trend  of  the  previous  year, 
having  the  advantage  of  being  stamped  with 
Paddy's  approval.  Charlotte  still  went  to  church, 
to  be  sure,  but  her  intercourse  with  Dolly  was  the 
thing  that  really  absorbed  her. 

'So  it  was  the  news  of  the  projected  trip  abroad, 
though  arousing  in  her  a  confused  sense  of  joyous 
anticipation,  brought,  too,  a  pang  of  sincere  regret. 
She  must  leave  Dolly.  Dolly  was  her  first  girl 
friend  and  she  felt  no  other  the  years  might  bring 


48  GIBBETED  GODS 

would  ever  be  the  same.  She  went  about  the  house 
during  the  weeks  of  busy  preparation  with  a  forlorn 
wonder  at  the  strange  mixture  of  her  feelings.  It 
was  only  when  Hendy  talked  to  her  of  the  beauties 
of  Florence  and  promised  to  see  to  it  that  she  should 
learn  to  paint  that  Charlotte  could  lose  the  dull 
ache  of  her  homesickness. 

She  went  to  say  good-by  to  Miss  Seymour  and 
Mr.  Paisley. 

"It 's  the  right  thing  to  do,"  Hendy  encouraged 
her. 

"It 's  the  polite  thing  to  do,"  corrected  Paddy. 

"I  'm  going  to  be  a  great  painter,"  Charlotte 
told  her  Sunday-school  teacher,  with  a  hint  of  con- 
descension in  her  tone.  It  was  evidence  of  Paddy's 
peculiar  power  of  blight  that  Charlotte's  faith  in 
Miss  Seymour  had  not  been  so  absolute  since  the 
eventful  poker  party,  with  all  that  it  entailed  of 
malicious  suggestion. 

Charlotte's  call  extended  a  tedious  half-hour. 
She  left  with  a  vague  wish  that  Miss  Seymour  would 
dress  better  and  a  wonder  that  nice  people  could 
serve  such  wretched  tea. 

Mr.  Paisley  fared  but  little  better  in  the  sharp- 
ness of  his  young  visitor's  discernment.  He  talked 
of  God.  Charlotte  felt  the  dull  little  study  not  at 
all  a  fitting  background  for  the  glory  of  his  topic. 


GIBBETED  GODS  49 

She  shut  her  eyes  and  summoned  a  vision  of  the  mel- 
low old  church  with  its  mysterious  thrill  of  twilight 
ecstasy.  Then  she  opened  them  to  a  mission  desk 
of  hopeless  proportions.  She  arose  with  dignity. 

"I  'm  sure  I  shall  always  know  right  from  wrong, 
Mr.  Paisley,"  she  said  quietly  and  put  out  her 
perfectly  gloved  little  hand  to  say  good-by. 

After  that  the  crowded  hours  blurred  confusedly 
in  Charlotte's  mind.  She  was  fortunately  too  ex- 
cited to  think  and  so  got  through  the  last  critical 
moments  with  a  surprising  ebullience.  Even  at  the 
steamer,  when  Dolly  clung  to  her  and  cried 
pathetic,  pretty  little  tears,  Charlotte  failed  of  the 
true  emotional  response,  so  distracted  was  she  by  the 
gay  scene  about  her.  She  loved  the  well-dressed 
crowd,  now  scattering,  now  settling  in  groups,  laugh- 
ing, pushing,  eager-eyed,  excited.  She  loved  the 
noise  of  it  all, — the  din,  the  shouts,  with  all  the 
while,  deep  down,  a  steady  muffled  beat  like  the 
throb  of  a  great  heart. 

Paddy  arrived  at  the  steamer  late;  she  had  been 
lunching  with  her  husband  and  seemed  somewhat 
distrait. 

"Quite  impossible!"  she  dropped  to  Hendy. 
"Ordered  oysters  out  of  season;  fancy  that!" 

Then  she  turned  to  Philip,  feeling  the  occasion 
called  for  motherly  advice. 


50  GIBBETED  GODS 

"Don't  get  your  teeth  knocked  out  playing  foot- 
ball, and  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  let  your  professors 
spoil  your  French  accent !" 

Seve'ral  camera  men  had  stepped  up  now. 
Paddy's  exploits  had  always  delighted  the  press 
inordinately.  Paddy  smiled  graciously,  drew  her 
expensive  furs  about  her,  and  the  snap  was  taken. 
Then  it  was  Charlotte's  turn.  She  made  a  very 
pretty  picture  as  she  stood  there,  a  little  bashful  and 
conscious,  with  Old  Man  Blink  and  the  Rowdy  in 
her  arms.  The  other  passengers  gazed  at  the  Baird 
group  curiously,  identifying  now  one,  now  another. 
Buchanan  Laurence  was  spotted  at  once,  a  familiar 
figure  to  those  who  knew  New  York  night  life. 
The  genial-looking  boy  with  the  square  smile  was 
Billy  Dunscomb,  one  day  the  heir  to  countless 
millions !  As  for  that  little  golden-haired  mite,  she 
was  "Buck"  Laurence's  daughter.  Don't  you 
remember1?  It  was  her  mother  who — Yes,  the 
attractive  little  dark  woman  is  Mrs.  George  Baird. 
Oh,  dear  no !  they  have  n't  lived  together  for  years. 
She  's  just  come  into  another  fortune.  The  nice- 
looking  man  is  a  cousin,  I  believe — By  the  way,  what 
deck  are  you  on1?  We  must  have  some  bridge — 

"We  '11  be  back  in  a  year  or  two,"  Paddy  was 
telling  Buchanan  Laurence.  "So  good  of  you  to 
have  sent  the  champagne.  Invite  Philip  for  the 
holidays  occasionally,  will  you4?" 


GIBBETED  GODS  51 

More  laughter,  a  greater  bustle,  the  insistent  clang 
of  a  bell,  and  with  hurried  good-bys  those  who  were 
not  to  sail  pressed  in  a  quick  crush  down  the  gang- 
plank. Those  left  behind  crowded  instinctively  to 
the  rail.  Last  messages  were  shouted,  hands  and 
hats  and  veils  waved;  then  the  great  majestic  steamer 
glided  with  a  superb  dignity  out  into  the  river.  The 
dock  with  its  crowded  confusion  faded  slowly  into 
the  distance.  It  seemed  to  Charlotte  that  the  last 
distinguishable  gleam  was  that  of  Dolly's  golden 
curls  as,  held  high  on  Philip's  shoulder,  she  waved 
feebly  a  last  adieu. 

Charlotte  was  a  child  of  strange,  unaccountable 
reactions.  Hendy  had  expected,  as  the  steamer  left 
the  dock,  an  "emotional  crisis") — Paddy's  jocose 
term  for  the  periodical  fits  of  sobbing  that  Charlotte 
had  been  subject  to  from  babyhood.  But,  instead, 
he  found  Charlotte  light-heartedly  happy,  buoyed  up 
by  the  gay  adventure.  It  was  only  as  they  neared 
the  end  of  their  trip  that  her  spirits  showed  any 
signs  of  flagging.  She  grew  pensive;  her  shadowy 
eyes  registered  the  disturbance  of  her  thoughts. 

"What  is  it,  Mignon?"  Hendy  asked  her  as 
they  sat,  late  one  night,  watching  the  moon  climb 
the  blue  wall  of  the  heavens. 

"I  wonder  what  is  going  to  happen  to  us  over 
here !"  she  whispered  half  to  herself. 

So  that  was  it!     Hendy  could  understand  now. 


52  GIBBETED  GODS 

Youth's  vague,   unformed  fear  of  the   unknown! 

"Florence  is  going  to  happen  to  us,"  he  said 
lightly  and  began  to  talk  of  Andrea  and  Michel 
Angelo  and  the  cypress-trees. 

A  factitious  exhilaration  was  produced  by  docking 
and  the  making  of  train  connections.  Charlotte 
was  afforded  only  a  glimpse  of  Naples, — picturesque, 
colorful,  teeming,  with  Vesuvius  a  graceful  menace 
against  the  blue  Italian  sky.  Then  they  found 
themselves  on  the  train. 

"Florence  at  six  to-morrow  morning,"  Paddy  had 
announced  ruefully.  "Traveling  in  Italy  is  of  an 
unspeakability — " 

That  night  Charlotte  lay  awake  in  her  narrow 
little  bunk.  Her  heart  beat  irregularly;  the  train, 
plunging  through  the  darkness,  seemed  all  a  part  of 
her  thoughts  that  rushed  so  precipitously  ahead  to 
meet  the  future.  At  length,  thoroughly  exhausted, 
she  fell  into  a  deep  slumber  that  lasted  till  four 
o'clock.  Then  she  arose  tremulously  and  without 
awaking  Suzanne  she  dressed.  It  was  an  awkward 
proceeding,  for  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of  dressing 
unaided,  but  the  struggle  with  elusive  buttons  and 
strings  rather  steadied  her.  She  heard  Hendy 
moving  about  in  the  next  compartment.  She 
knocked  ever  so  gently;  the  door  opened  and  the 
two  stood  smiling  at  each  other  in  the  dim  light. 


GIBBETED  GODS  53 

The  whole  thing  took  on  the  nature  of  a  delightful 
conspiracy,  as,  with  whispered  converse,  they  settled! 
themselves  by  the  window  in  Hendy's  room  and  sat 
hand  in  hand  waiting  for  Florence  and  the  day. 

The  train  plunged  on,  but  one  lost  now  all  sense 
of  trivial  activity  in  the  great  hush  of  the  open 
heavens.  The  stars  withdrew  softly,  one  by  one; 
then  as  if  by  concentrated  move  they  seemed  to 
blend  behind  the  curtain  of  blackness  and  through 
its  heavy  folds  forced  a  gentle,  persistent  light. 
Only  gradually  did  one  become  conscious  it  was  no 
longer  night:  slowly  the  rolling  slopes  of  the  hills 
were  disclosed  to  view,  purple,  shadowy,  mystical. 
There  seemed  a  sadness,  a  reluctance  in  this  yielding 
of  the  darkness  to  the  light,  as  if  Nature  realized  in 
the  coming  day  the  inevitable  moil  of  human  activi- 
ties, the  desecration  of  her  calm.  A  whisper  of  wind 
like  a  great  sigh  swept  the  hillsides — a  sigh  of 
despair,  of  weary  acquiescence — and  forthwith  the 
heavens  flared,  a  crimson  conflagration  of  day's 
triumph.  So  swift,  so  sudden  was  the  transfor- 
mation as  they  sat,  staring  straight  into  the  splendid 
east,  that  Charlotte  and  Hendy  had  only  a  startled 
gasp  for  the  beauties  the  light  unfolded  to  their 
bewildered  vision.  Florence!  It  lay  before  them 
with  a  mellow  loveliness  only  the  centuries  can 
bring  to  ripe  perfection.  Set  within  the  hollow  of 


54  GIBBETED  GODS 

its  beautiful  hills,  it  was  like  a  gem  that  holds  im- 
prisoned within  its  tempered  yellow  glow  the  pris- 
matic fires  of  former  passions. 

A  delicate  slender  marble  thing  rose  in  graceful 
(domination  of  the  scene. 

"The  Campanile,"  Hendy  articulated  faintly, 
"Giotto's  Campanile !" 

But  Charlotte  saw  nothing  but  the  cypress-trees, 
straight,  dark,  definite  against  the  glow  of  the 
morning  light.  Inexorable,  unyielding,  they  stand 
guard  over  Florence  like  brooding  sentinels,  whisper- 
ing in  gloomy  converse  of  dooms  and  depressions  and 
the  eternal  melancholy  of  the  ages. 

Hendy  felt  Charlotte's  hand  tighten  on  his  con- 
vulsively. He  sought  to  say  something  common- 
place, but  the  emotional  crisis  could  be  warded  off 
no  longer.  With  a  strange  choking  sound,  Charlotte 
threw  her  arms  about  Hendy's  neck  and  gave  way 
to  sobs  of  a  pathetically  blubbery  nature. 

At  which  critical  moment  Paddy  was  discovered  at 
the  door.  It  was  always  Hendy's  part  to  bear  the 
actual  physical  brunt  of  such  scenes;  but  it  was  for 
Paddy  to  see  to  the  little  decencies  that  might  other- 
wish  to  be  overlooked.  So  now,  she  extracted  a 
couple  of  large  handkerchiefs  from  Hendy's  bag  and 
with  a  running  fire  of  random  comment  pressed  them 
upon  her  emotional  offspring.  Then  she  withdrew 
to  finish  her  toilet.  If  the  cypress-trees  had  stirred 


GIBBETED  GODS  55 

in  Paddy  any  poignant  reminder  of  some  early 
dream,  some  phase,  suppressed  and  forgotten  long 
ago,  there  was  no  hint  of  it  in  her  glittering  eyes  as 
they  met  Hendy's,  nor  in  her  parting  words,  which 
made  short  iwork  of  youth's  sentimentalities. 
Hendy  could  only  hold  Charlotte  to  him  more  close- 
ly, with  a  vague  wonder  in  his  mind. 


PART  II 


PART  II 
CHAPTER  V 

PADDY  had  taken  on  indefinitely  a  villa  outside 
the  Roman  Gate.  They  had  gone  there  at 
once,  winding  through  high-walled  lanes  into  which 
the  blossoming  orchards  overdrooped,  heavy  with 
dewy  fragrance.  It  was  in  keeping  with  Paddy's 
volatile  efficiency  that,  whatever  destination  was 
picked,  she  was  sure  to  know  some  one  there  with  a 
charming  villa  to  be  obtained  on  lease  at  a  moment's 
notice.  This  one  belonged  to  the  Comtesse  Ferraud, 
a  Parisienne  of  indifferent  reputation.  It  was  a 
beautiful  old  place  crowning  an  olive-muffled  hill, 
its  picturesque  decay  making  nice  terms  with  the 
comforts  and  improvements  so  essential  to  an  exact- 
ing generation.  Set  higher  than  the  surrounding 
villas,  it  looked  off  to  the  west  into  a  splendid  open- 
ness, while  beneath  it  the  ground  declined  into  the 
vagueness  of  olive  crops  and  vineyards.  Its  long 
narrow  gardens  in  the  manner  of  a  terrace  were  a 
tangle  of  wild  roses;  lizards  sunned  themselves  on  the 
old  stone  benches  and  the  crumbling  parapet.  And 
everywhere,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  straight 
dark  cypresses  cut  sharply  the  luminous  haze  of 
Italian  color. 

59 


60  GIBBETED  GODS 

Little  did  Charlotte  realize  the  first  morning,  as 
she  and  Hendy  leaned  over  the  parapet,  their  gaze 
afar  in  the  long  valley  of  the  Arno,  that  she  would 
watch  that  same  scene  for  seven  years — the  beauty 
of  the  spring  ripen  to  its  summer,  the  brilliance  of 
the  autumn  whiten  to  winter.  The  same  scene,  yet, 
tinged  by  the  delicate  aura  of  her  developing 
consciousness,  so  different!  As  Charlotte  looked 
back  upon  the  seven  years  spent  in  Florence,  she 
was  in  no  way  aware  of  "growing  up."  She  thought 
of  her  development  entirely  in  terms  of  under- 
standing and  knowledge  of  the  place,  the  first  sight 
of  which  in  that  early  dawn  had  stirred  in  her  so 
strange  a  confusion  of  sadness.  The  seven  years 
were  happy  ones;  only  in  their  significance  as  she 
recalled  them  in  later  years  did  she  catch  the  note  of 
tragedy,  of  which  she  was  singularly,  childishly 
unaware  at  the  time.  The  impressions  of  the  first 
four  years  crowded  and  mingled  till  it  was  im- 
possible to  disentangle  one  from  another.  For  the 
most  part  she  and  Hendy  seemed  to  be  wandering 
about,  hand  in  hand,  through  the  curious  old  streets 
of  the  city  or  resting  a  while  in  the  thicker  dusk  of 
some  vaulted  church.  Faded  frescos,  darkened 
marble,  with  their  confused  intimations  of  immortal 
genius  and  blood  history !  Vague  eternal  murmurs 
of  ambitions  unachieved,  efforts  unsustained, 
illusions  forgotten ! 


GIBBETED  GODS  61 

Charlotte,  even  from  her  earliest  years,  had  shown 
herself  of  a  delicate  susceptibility  to  impression,  of 
a  quick  response  to  the  subtle  vibrations  of  mood. 
It  was  to  the  moods  of  Florence,  passionate,  complex, 
resistless,  that  she  responded  now  with  an  intensity 
that  swept  her  on  to  tears  she  could  not  explain, 
tremulous  ecstasies,  saddened  questionings.  And' 
always  Hendy  was  with  her  to  press  her  hand  in 
understanding,  to  point  out  some  gayer  beauty  to 
distract  her  from  her  sadness.  In  later  years  a 
memory  of  this  or  that  would  detach  itself  from  the 
general  blur  of  events,  though  with  no  intimation  of 
when  it  came  in  time,  what  led  to  it,  or  with  what 
it  was  joined. 

There  was  her  first  visit  to  the  Duomo,  Santa 
Maria  del  Fiore ;  she  liked  the  name  and  kept  saying 
it;  over  to  herself  with  a  resolution  to  study  hard, 
that  she  might  speak  Italian  as  fluently  as  Paddy 
and  Hendy.  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore!  They  had 
glimpsed  it  first  from  the  Via  Pecori,  Brunelleschi's 
warm  dome  against  the  blue  Italian  sky.  The 
brightly  colored  marbles  seemed  happy  and  festive ; 
Charlotte's  mood  responded  to  the  gaiety  of  their 
suggestion.  Then,  one  step,  and  they  were  plunged 
into  the  vast  and  silent  gloom  of  the  interior,  the 
warm,  sentient  world  of  sunshine  incredibly  remote. 
So  unexpected,  so  dismal,  so  overpowering  in  its 
austerity  was  it  that  Charlotte  gave  a  sharp  gasp 


62  GIBBETED  GODS 

and  clung  to  Hendy  in  genuine  terror.  The  awful 
emptiness  of  it,  the  dread  stillness !  Great  columns 
rose  somberly  out  of  the  gloom,  only  to  be  lost  in  a 
deeper  gloom  above.  Bats  flitted  about  in  dismal 
dreariness.  The  air  seemed  heavy  with  forebodings 
and  'depressions.  The  one  sinister  experience  of 
the  years,  but  one  leaving  its  indelible  print! 
Charlotte  never  again  entered  the  Duomo. 

As  for  the  rest,  the  bits  of  Florence  gradually 
fell  into  place  as  the  pieces  of  a  puzzle  fit  into 
a  perfect  whole.  Charlotte  came  to  know  her 
Florence  with  all  thoroughness  and  all  tenderness. 
There  was  no  forced  application,  no  tourist  "doing" 
of  the  points  of  interest,  but  an  absorbing  of  the  very 
spirit  of  the  place,  to  the  ultimate  grasp  of  its  every 
small  detail. 

They  wandered,  she  and  Hendy,  for  hours  at  a 
time,  at  first  vaguely,  with  no  definite  aim ;  gradually, 
however,  there  came  to  be  points  where  each  knew 
the  other  wished  to  linger.  Happy  moments  they 
were,  lost  in  the  mellow  contemplation  of  a  Giorgione 
or  in  the  gladsome  spell  of  a  Fra  Angelico,  with  its 
joy  of  simple  faith.  The  exquisite  light  of  Santa 
Maria  Novella,  the  poignant  beauty  of  Santa  Croce, 
the  stern  calm  of  the  Bargello!  Each  place  evoked 
a  mood  and  filled  its  need. 

At  times  they  contented  themselves  with  an 
inconsequent  wandering  among  the  curious  old 


GIBBETED  GODS  63 

streets  about  the  Borgo  Santi  Apostoli.  The 
weather-beaten  little  shrines  by  the  wayside,  the 
battered  frescoes,  the  time-worn  fonts!  Charlotte 
was  very  tender  of  them  all. 

So  the  years  passed,  barren  of  actual  event,  rich 
in  accumulated  impression.  Charlotte  saw  less  and 
less  of  Paddy,  who  refused  sharply  to  join  them  in 
their  jaunts.  Yet  she  talked  of  all  things  with  a 
remarkable  vividness  of  memory.  She  had  the 
oddest  opinions  as  to  the  character  and  value  of  the 
different  works  of  art,  defending  her  interpretations 
with  amusing  ingenuity  and  flippant  humor.  She 
even  descended  to  personal  remarks,  once  or  twice,  at 
the  expense  of  Hendy's  most  cherished  Madonnas. 
But  for  all  this,  it  was  perfectly  obvious  she,  too, 
knew  her  Florence  and  appreciated  fully  the 
privilege  of  its  possessions. 

Charlotte  was  once  moved  to  a  faint  curiosity. 

"When  were  you  here  last?"  she  questioned. 

"I  lived  here  two  years,"  Paddy  answered, 
"before  you  were  born." 

The  second  summer  Charlotte  and  Hendy  spent 
a  month  at  Vallombrosa,  away  up  in  the  pungent 
freshness  of  pines  and  chestnuts.  Hendy  pointed 
out  an  extravagant  villa. 

"That  was  Paddy's  place,"  he  remarked  with 
his  usual  quiet  detachment. 

"Poor  Paddy !"     Charlotte  murmured. 


64  GIBBETED  GODS 

Hendy  looked  at  her  quickly,  but  she  did  not 
explain;  she  was  totally  unaware  of  the  fact  that 
her  words  needed  explanation,  the  change  in  her 
point  of  view  being  essentially  a  process  of  sub- 
conscious evolution.  The  old  adoration  for  Paddy 
was  there,  but  tinged  with  a  new  pity  and  tenderness. 
Paddy  was  no  longer  in  Charlotte's  eyes  the  absolute 
dictator  of  a  perfected  power.  She  had  gradually, 
pathetically,  taken  on  the  nature  of  a  mere  mortal, 
the  victim  of  another's  wrong-doing.  Charlotte  saw 
her  mother's  youth,  beauty,  happiness  exacted  as 
sacrifice  to  her  father's  selfish  whims ;  that  within  her 
which  made  so  sharp  a  distinction  between  the  right 
and  the  wrong  resented  hotly  the  injustice  of  it. 

George  Baird,  in  a  frenzied  effort  to  cover  previous 
losses,  had  involved  himself  in  one  wildcat  scheme 
after  another,  to  a  greater  and  greater  irregularity 
of  his  wife's  allowance.  It  was  annoying;  it  was 
disconcerting;  it  was  beastly.  Thus  Paddy  at 
intervalls.  The  terms  of  high  tragedy  in  which 
Charlotte  interpreted  her  father's  defection,  and  her 
mother's  consequent  sufferings,  were  not  Paddy's 
terms.  Paddy  was  of  a  remarkable  tolerance;  she 
could  forgive  her  husband  everything  except  his 
stupidity. 

As  to  Uncle  Peter's  legacy,  that  had  been  a 
startling  surprise,  not  only  because  of  the  very 
diminutive  amount  bequeathed  his  dear  niece, 


GIBBETED  GODS  65 

Patricia  Baird,  but  as  indicating  a  possible  trend  of 
the  divers  other  Warrens,  yet  to  pass  on  and  yet  to 
bequeath. 

Paddy  was  quite  frankly  in  a  hole  after  one  year 
in  Florence..  Retrenchments  were  again  in  order. 
Therese,  Paddy's  personal  maid,  was  opportunely 
discovered  guilty  of  some  immorality.  Paddy  held 
up  her  hands  in  horror,  dismissing  the  girl  at  once. 

"Suzanne  can  look  out  for  both  of  us  very  easily," 
Paddy  said  brightly  and  Charlotte  accepted  it. 
Not  so  Suzanne !  The  arrangement  was  not  at  all 
to  her  liking.  There  is  ever  a  fine  snobbery  among 
domestics.  To  serve  two  mistresses  instead  of  one! 
Ma  foil  the  thing  savored  of  the  bourgeoisie. 
Suzanne's  arguments  were  voluble  ones.  She  laid 
the  matter  in  all  unbiased  fairness  before  the  chef; 
the  second  man  was  called  in  consultation,  a  footman 
or  two  included.  An  evil  orgy  of  glib  phrase  and 
unbelievable  malice!  The  next  day  there  was  a 
general  exodus  of  all  the  servants  Paddy  had 
brought  with  her  to  the  Continent. 

Charlotte  had  not  been  educated  to  any  practical 
considerations.  Luxuries  were  to  her  simply  neces- 
sities. The  little  inconveniences  that  resulted  from 
the  shortage  of  domestics  combined  with  her  hurt 
pride  to  give  her  some  very  uncomfortable  weeks. 
So  absolutely  dependent  had  she  been  upon  Suzanne 
that  for  a  while  she  floundered  about  helplessly, 


66  GIBBETED  GODS 

quite  at  sea  as  to  the  most  rudimentary  things. 
Preparing  her  own  bath,  finding  her  clothes,  running 
ribbons  in  the  dainty  underclothes  her  maid  had 
always  ready  to  her  hand,  irked  her  beyond 
measure.  She  had  many  stormy  scenes  by  herself, 
but  eventually  her  indomitable  will  carried  her 
through  and  she  ceased  to  mind.  She  worked  out 
a  system  as  far  as  her  own  toilet  went.  The  native 
chef  had  some  good  dishes  to  offer;  the  other  Italian 
servants,  substituted  for  the  delinquents,  helped 
her  to  acquire  some  colloquialisms.  So,  with  youth's 
customary  reaction,  Charlotte  soon  forgot  her  own 
grievances.  The  mill-pond  of  her  existence  settled 
back  to  its  former  calm.  Only  in  contemplation  of 
Paddy  did  the  old  resentment  quicken  and  stir. 

Poor  Paddy!  If  Charlotte  had  fourteen  years  of 
luxurious  tradition  to  combat,  Paddy  had  forty. 
Besides,  Paddy  had  neither  her  daughter's  will  nor 
yet  her  steady  fingers.  She  began  to  suffer 
a  pitiable  let-down  in  appearance.  Her  costumes, 
once  the  gossip  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  were  too 
fragile  to  stand  the  rack  of  time.  Like  gossamer 
butterflies,  they  should  have  worked  out  their  des- 
tinies in  the  fleeting  hours,  not  in  the  dragging  years. 
But  Paddy  went  gaily  on.  She  was  forever  leaving 
a  bit  of  shredded  lace  or  a  tulle  sleeve  on  some  rose- 
bush or  other,  staining  her  loveliest  silk  on  the  mossy 


GIBBETED  GODS  67 

benches,  burning  a  hole  in  exquisite  embroidery  of 
registered  value. 

"Vanitas  vamtafum!"  she  would  answer  lightly 
to  Charlotte's  daily  remonstrances.  It  was  not, 
however,  the  wanton  destruction  of  the  valuable  that 
drew  from  Charlotte  her  protest,  although  it  was  on 
some  such  grounds  she  made  her  case.  The  deep 
grief,  the  real  pain  was  for  the  loss  of  Paddy's  beauty, 
the  fading  of  her  loveliness.  Paddy's  deterioration 
was  in  reality  a  matter  of  years,  but  as  Charlotte 
looked  back  on  it  in  later  life  it  seemed  to  her  to  have 
come  overnight,  as  if  she  had  waked  suddenly  to  the 
blur  of  a  coarse  hand  that  had  marred  forever  the 
delicate  tints  of  a  loved  picture. 

Hendy,  too,  was  saddened,  and  wandered  about 
vaguely  restless. 

One  day  Paddy  had  come  to  luncheon  in  more 
conspicuous  disarray  than  ever.  Her  negligee  was 
torn,  her  hair  untidy.  Hendy  had  looked  quickly 
away  from  her  and  had  eaten  in  silence.  After 
luncheon  he  took  Charlotte  aside. 

"Can't  you  do  something  for  Paddy4?"  he  asked, 
awkwardly  hesitant.  "I  thought  you  might  help 
her  mend  a  little,  perhaps — " 

The  quick  tears  started  to  Charlotte's  eyes.  The 
two  avoided  looking  at  each  other.  Then,  "I  will 


68  GIBBETED  GODS 

try,"  Charlotte  said  in  a  low  voice  and  rushed  to  her 
room  to  hide  the  passion  of  her  grief. 

The  next  day  she  had,  with  a  semblance  of  gaiety, 
offered  to  take  on  the  responsibility  of  her  mother's 
clothes.  She,  too,  was  learning  the  safeguard  of 
flippancy.  Paddy  had  slanted  at  her  a  strange  look, 
then  proceeded  to  empty  all  her  bureau  drawers  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor. 

Charlotte  made  valiant  attempts  for  several  weeks, 
to  the  discovery  that  the  laying  of  patches  on  chiffon 
and  silk  was  an  art  to  challenge  the  deftest.  She 
herself,  totally  unskilled,  was  of  a  deplorable 
clumsiness.  She  shut  herself  in  her  room,  agonized 
and  fumed,  only  to  ruin  the  thing  she  was  struggling 
so  persistently  to  renovate.  Even  Hendy  was 
obliged  to  admit  the  medley  of  patches  presented 
for  his  inspection  was  not  beautiful.  They  all  pre- 
tended to  lively  amusement  when  Charlotte  was 
eventually  forced  to  cry  a  truce ;  but  Paddy,  with  a 
shrewd  guess  at  the  part  Hendy  had  played  as  in- 
stigator of  the  experiment,  betrayed  a  certain 
sardonic  satisfaction  in  its  failure. 

It  was  at  this  time  the  matter  of  Paddy's  health 
became  a  problem  to  exclude  every  lesser  consider- 
ation. She  had  terrible,  racking  headaches.  With 
her  usual  perversity,  however,  she  refused  point- 
blank  to  summon  a  doctor,  making  fine  sport  of  the 
medical  profession — "bibble-babble"  as  she  desig- 


GIBBETED  GODS  69 

nated  it;  she  discouraged  blithely  all  inquiries  and 
solicitations;  in  the  end  she  refused  to  admit  to 
her  headaches  at  all.  So,  only  in  the  bewildered 
pain  of  her  eyes  could  Charlotte  and  Hendy  read  the 
truth  of  her  suffering.  She  came  eventually  to  shut 
herself  away  for  days,  finding  the  weight  of  their 
tacit  sympathy  intolerable.  At  such  times  there  was 
nothing  for  Charlotte  and  Hendy  but  to  haunt  the 
streets  and  galleries,  restless  and  unhappy.  Poor, 
poor  Paddy ! 

This  tender,  passionate  pity  that  her  mother's 
suffering  aroused  in  her  was  to  prove  the  source  of 
an  inspiration  that  lent  to  Charlotte's  years  in 
Florence  a  certain  exaltation.  She  had  wanted  to 
paint,  but  her  desire  had  become  dimmed  in  the 
melancholy  of  communion  with  the  past.  When 
she  was  fourteen,  Hendy  had  brought  the  matter  to 
definite  issue,  arranging  for  lessons  with  an  English 
teacher  of  reputation.  Charlotte  had  been  de- 
lighted; she  expected  to  begin  at  once  to  paint 
pictures,  to  paint  people.  She  had  a  remarkable 
sense  of  color  harmony,  loved  to  mix  the  pigments 
all  up  on  her  palette;  but  when  it  came  to  actual 
study  of  proportion  and  perspective,  she  was  sur- 
prised, annoyed,  and  bored.  Having  never  been 
brought  down  to  definite  application  or  schedule, 
she  had  no  idea  why  certain  tasks  she  did  not  fancy 
should  be  exacted  of  her.  She  was  intolerant  of 


70  GIBBETED  GODS 

her  teacher's  criticisms  and  often  dissolved  into  tears 
of  rage.  Hendy  always  accompanied  her;  had  it 
not  been  for  the  whispered  consultations  with  him 
back  of  her  easel,  each  of  the  first  lessons  would 
have  ended  in  a  violent  flare.  Hendy  gently 
pointed  out  that  all  artists  had  just  such  torturous 
beginnings.  This  was  not  enough,  however,  for 
Charlotte.  It  is  doubtful  if  she  could  ever  have 
restrained  her  impatience  sufficiently  to  follow  out 
her  work,  had  not  a  quiet  suggestion,  dropped  by 
Hendy,  induced  in  her  fertile  brain  the  perception 
that  in  this,  in  her  art,  lay  her  opportunity  to  help 
Paddy.  She  quite  naively  traced  Paddy's  deteriora- 
tion entirely  to  their  loss  of  money.  Very  well !  she 
would  paint  and  make  money  for  Paddy,  thereby 
redeeming  her  health,  her  beauty,  her  youth.  The 
inspiration  was  a  blessed  one,  raising  Charlotte  above 
the  annoyance  of  irking  detail.  Her  whole  attitude 
changed  of  a  sudden ;  she  saw  herself  entrusted  with 
a  great  mission,  the  light  of  which  shed  an  indefinable 
joy  over  everything. 

She  had  no  idea  of  money  values;  she  knew 
only  that  the  works  of  art  about  her  were  a  matter 
of  international  contention.  Imbued  with  this 
new  idea,  she  set  to  work.  It  was  the  labor  of  love 
that  made  her  life  in  Florence  a  happy  one,  the 
melancholy  of  sad  awakenings  lost  in  the  luminous 
vision  of  high  achievements. 


GIBBETED  GODS  71 

So  for  seven  years  they  lived,  the  three  of  them, 
an  existence  strangely  concentrated,  unbelievably 
free  of  outside  responsibilities  and  attachments. 
They  knew  no  one  in  Florence  and  Paddy  had  made 
it  clear  at  the  very  beginning  that  they  wished  to 
know  no  one.  The  outside  world  seemed  singularly 
remote,  the  threads  of  connection  with  it  tenuous 
and  unsubstantial.  Philip,  for  instance,  was  there 
for  them  only  in  so  far  as  he  could  create  a  disturbing 
ripple  in  the  current  of  their  own  lives.  Letters 
came  at  intervals,  sullen,  complaining.  He  had  no 
money;  he  owed  everybody;  he  was  obliged  to 
play  poker  to  get  by.  His  father  refused  to  answer 
his  letters;  Uncle  Howell  Warren  was  obdurate  to 
his  pleas. 

Charlotte's  perception  of  her  brother's  plight  in 
no  way  lessened  her  dislike  for  him.  She  ended 
by  not  reading  his  letters  at  all.  She  relied  for  her 
news  upon  casual  discussions  between  Paddy  and 
Hendy.  Philip  was  eventually  taken  over  by  Cass 
Laurence's  father,  who  saw  in  him  a  good  influence 
for  Cass.  Paddy  achieved  a  rare  little  grimace  as 
she  imparted  this.  Philip  was  spending  all  his 
vacations  at  the  Laurences'  country  place  on  Long 
Island.  The  two  boys  entered  Yale  together. 
After  that  football  was  the  prevailing  motif,  with 
now  and  then  a  variation  on  one  Tim  Welsh — "a 
Pittsburgh  multi,  splitting  to  get  into  the  right  set." 


72  GIBBETED  GODS 

"He  may  stand  me  in  good  stead  if  ever  I  'm  chucked 
by  the  Laurences,"  Philip  rambled  on. 

Charlotte  showed  herself  indifferent  to  further 
details.  Philip  was  too  crude. 

With  Dolly's  letters  it  was  different.  Dolly  had 
promised  to  write  every  week  and  kept  up  valiantly 
for  a  succession  of  six.  The  notes  were  singularly 
childish,  with  their  awkwardly  formed  letters  forever 
running  down  hill  till  stopped  by  some  kindly  blot. 
Charlotte,  whose  own  handwriting  had  developed, 
bold  and  definite,  when  she  was  still  very  young 
smiled  tenderly  over  these  attempts,  but  cherished 
them  the  more  for  their  pathetic  inadequacy.  The 
news  Dolly  had  to  offer  was  negligible,  but  that 
mattered  little  to  Charlotte.  When  the  febrile 
little  letters  spluttered  out  entirely,  she  missed  them 
intensely.  That  is — for  a  while.  Then  Dolly,  too, 
sank  into  the  remoteness  that  lay  behind  the  purple 
Tuscan  hills. 

So  Charlotte  developed  with  the  years.  From 
a  stormy,  impetuous  child  there  evolved  a  woman  of 
a  great  and  passionate  tenderness,  a  tenderness  that 
was  all  a  yearning  for  the  beautiful  and  the  right. 
She  was  quick  to  know  beauty,  to  hunt  out 
mercilessly  the  sham  and  the  false.  She  was  un- 
erring in  her  judgments  of  right  and  wrong.  Right 
was  right  and  wrong  was  wrong;  in  her  creed  were 
no  ignoble  compromises,  no  compacts  of  insincerities 


GIBBETED  GODS  73 

and  accommodations.  She  made  no  concession  to 
circumstance;  she  allowed  nothing  for  human 
frailty.  Her  deep  dark  eyes  with  their  level  brows 
carried  the  strength  of  inexorable  conviction. 

As  the  facts  of  life  had  come  to  her  she  accepted 
them  simply;  in  her  large  conception  of  things 
there  could  be  no  mean  interpretations.  Life  was 
beautiful;  love,  its  transcendent  experience,  must 
be  beautiful,  too.  If  that  beauty  was  tinged 
with  sadness,  it  was  but  the  exquisite  penalty  of 
supreme  experience. 

Supreme  experience!  Hendy  felt  a  strange  be- 
wildered pain  as  he  read  in  the  deepening  shadows 
of  Charlotte's  eyes  her  steady  faith, — faith  in  those 
she  cared  for,  faith  in  herself,  faith  in  love  and  life. 
It  was  because  of  this  faith  she  was  content  to  let 
life  take  its  course,  with  no  straining  at  the  future,  no 
forcing  of  event.  As  a  child  she  had  wondered 
tremulously  what  was  going  to  happen  to  her;  that 
wonder  had  ceased  in  the  philosophic  calm  of  a 
great  confidence.  As  Hendy  watched  her  day  after 
day  gazing  reflectively  out  into  the  soft  range  of 
afternoon  twilight,  he  felt  a  dull  ache  that  she  could 
not  always  rest  just  so. 

"You  are  happy,  Mignon*?" 

"Ah,  quite!" 

But  her  assurances  brought  him  only  a  factitious 


74  GIBBETED  GODS 

comfort.  Charlotte  was  nineteen  and  just  beyond 
that  purple  haze  of  hills  lay  the  world, — dangerous, 
destructive,  interfering.  The  need  to  voice  his 
restless  fear  was  a  poignant  one. 

"We  must  leave  Florence  some  day,"  he  ventured 
in  a  low  voice. 

"Not  yet !"  she  put  in  quickly,  her  eyes  bright  in 
his. 

"Some  day,"  he  persisted. 

Her  sigh  seemed  somehow  the  echo  of  his  own. 

"Well — perhaps,  some  day,"  she  murmured. 

Then,  together,  they  watched  the  valley  beneath 
them  grow  heavy  with  the  twilight  shadows.  The 
drenched  gray  of  the  olive-groves,  the  mauve  of  the 
wisteria,  the  somber  purple  of  the  Judas-tree  fused 
with  a  sad  reluctance,  then  deepened  softly  to  a  tonal 
harmony  with  the  cypress  gloom. 

"Some  day !"  Charlotte  repeated,  as  if  to  herself; 
then,  raising  her  eyes  to  Hendy,  she  added  with  a 
smile:  "You  and  Paddy  and  I!"  and  she  pressed 
his  hand  between  her  two  young  strong  ones  to  give 
him  the  comfort  she  felt  somehow  he  was  so  help- 
lessly seeking. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  was  a  peculiar  contradiction  of  Charlotte's 
nature  that,  although  quite  content  in  her  own 
sphere,  no  matter  how  restricted,  she  should  enjoy 
so  thoroughly  "playing  up"  to  the  outside  world 
when  occasion  offered.  The  visit  of  the  Comtesse 
de  Ferraud  that  spring,  though  fairly  trivial  in  itself, 
was  deeply  significant  in  that  it  presented  Charlotte 
with  the  opportunity  of  discovering  herself  as  a  dis- 
tinct personality.  So  merged  had  her  sympathies 
been  with  Hendy's,  so  subsidized  her  will  by 
Paddy's,  that  she  had  been  totally  unaware  of  her- 
self as  an  independent  being.  It  was  but  natural, 
therefore,  that  in  the  sudden  surprise  of  her  discovery 
she  should  be  carried  away  by  her  enthusiasm  and  the 
exhilaration  of  success. 

Yet,  in  the  beginning,  she  had  asserted  herself 
entirely  for  Paddy's  sake.  The  comtesse  en  route 
from  Rome  to  Paris  had  taken  occasion  to  pay  them 
a  visit,  "on  a  little  matter  of  business,"  as  she 
had  wired.  Charlotte  and  Hendy  were  planning 
a  ride  to  Fiesole,  tea  in  the  little  loggia  below  the 
monastery.  Paddy  had  surprisingly  asked  that  they 
postpone  their  excursion. 

75 


76  GIBBETED  GODS 

"The  comtesse  bores  me;  if  I  once  went  under  I 
should  never  come  up,"  she  asserted  positively. 

Charlotte  noted  a  quick  interchange  between 
Paddy  and  Hendy.  She  turned  away  abruptly. 
Money  again !  A  savage  resentment  stirred  against 
the  Frenchwoman. 

The  comtesse  arrived,  coldly  handsome,  superbly 
gowned,  inscrutable,  reserved.  Her  reserve,  how- 
ever, was  penetrated  by  one  flash  of  frank  astonish- 
ment as  her  eyes  rested  on  Paddy,  whose  pathetic 
disarray  was  accentuated  rather  than  covered  by 
her  voluble  effusiveness.  Paddy  had  never  before 
appeared  so  utterly  shoddy,  so  bewildered,  so  ill. 
The  completeness  of  her  disintegration  could  be  read 
only  through  the  eyes  of  one  who  had  known  her  in 
the  days  of  her  Parisian  triumphs  some  twenty  years 
before. 

A  hot  wave  swept  over  Charlotte.  Hendy  turned 
quickly  away.  Even  Paddy  faltered.  Then 
Charlotte  stepped  forward,  with  a  quiet  dignity, 
and  gave  her  hand  to  the  comtesse.  They  surveyed 
each  other  critically.  There  was  that  in  Charlotte's 
perfect  poise,  in  the  tense  calm  of  her  great  un- 
flinching eyes  that  challenged  attention.  It  was 
for  her  to  make  good  in  the  comtesse's  eyes;  her 
laurels  were  Paddy's.  The  swift  perception  of  this 
carried  her  forward  in  her  first  assertiveness.  But 
after  that  it  was  the  approval  she  read  in  the  com- 


GIBBETED  GODS  77 

tesse's  eyes  that  led  her  on  to  a  greater  domination 
-  of  the  scene.  It  was  the  matter  of  the  horse  show 
all  over  again;  with  the  applause  of  the  crowd  in  her 
ears  she  would  have  dared  any  hurdle.  She  talked 
with  a  hard  brilliance,  a  sophisticated  worldliness, 
an  accomplished  versatility.  Her  French  and  Italian 
were  perfect;  her  knowledge  of  books  exhaustive. 
She  had  decided  preferences  which  she  was  able  to 
defend  with  a  sharp  wit.  She  gossiped,  condoning 
or  condemning  without  an  instant's  hesitation. 
Music,  horse-flesh,  what  you  will — she  was  there  to 
meet  the  comtesse  every  time. 

The  comtesse  was  coldly  amused.  Paddy  kept 
chuckling  to  herself  and  nodding  approval.  Hendy 
was  nervously  ill  at  ease.  But  Charlotte  talked  on 
and  on  with  a  mordacity  of  comment,  a  subversive- 
ness,  a  daring  that  carried  conviction  through  the 
very  force  of  its  incongruity. 

"You  are  young  to  be  so  sophisticated,"  the  com- 
tesse murmured. 

Charlotte's  eyes  met  Hendy's  for  one  penetrating 
second.  They  smiled  at  each  other. 

Hendy  understood  only  too  poignantly  the  hard 
show  of  Charlotte's  worldliness,  with  its  fine  charity 
of  purpose,  but  he  could  still  be  fearful  of  the 
factitious  exhilaration  it  was  capable  of  producing. 
He  was  infinitely  relieved  when  the  comtesse  rose 
to  go. 


78  GIBBETED  GODS 

Charlotte  admitted  to  ,a  genuine  regret  that  the 
visit  was  over;  she  had  enjoyed  her  success. 

"Your  daughter  is  a  beautiful  guaranty,  Patricia," 
the  comtesse  had  said  in  parting.  "If  I  can  be  of 
service  any  time  in  Paris — " 

Charlotte's  eyes  showed  the  glow  of  a  suppressed 
excitement.  That  night  as  she  stood  before  her 
dressing-table,  her  quickened  perception  told  her  the 
comtesse  had  spoken  the  truth.  She  saw  herself  as  if 
for  the  first  time,  and  knew  that  she  was  beautiful. 
The  deep  dark  eyes  with  their  level  brows,  the  mass 
of  hair  piled  high,  the  olive  skin  with  its  pulse  of 
throbbing  color,  the  compressed  line  of  the  red  lips — 
She  studied  her  image  carefully  with  the  artist's 
instinct  of  line  and  color.  Her  orange  negligee, 
draped  tightly  about  her,  accentuated  the  slenderness 
of  waist  and  hip,  but  the  breadth  of  the  shoulders 
imparted  to  the  whole  figure  the  graceful  strength  of 
superb  vigor.  Her  beauty  was  in  its  essence  the 
beauty  of  youth;  her  joy  in  its  possession  was  the 
joy  of  youth.  She  gazed  at  herself  with  a  rapt 
eagerness.  Then  suddenly  the  vivid  image  in  the 
glass  blurred  to  another  image,  drab,  worn,  pathetic, 
Paddy  as  she  had  come  forward  to  greet  the  comtesse. 
With  a  dry  little  sob,  Charlotte  covered  her  face  and 
turned  away.  Paddy,  too,  had  once  been  young  and 
beautiful  and  confident.  Before  the  intolerable 
lesson  of  this,  Charlotte's  pride  broke.  But  the 


GIBBETED  GODS  79 

passionate  love  that  swept  her  at  the  image  of 
Paddy's  faded  beauty  was  great  enough  to  save  her 
faith.  Love  was  life  and  so  could  defy  the  slow 
stain  of  time.  Beauty  and  success — they  mattered 
little,  after  all.  Charlotte,  however,  was  not  yet 
old  enough  to  accept  that  fact  with  resignation. 
Her  sobs,  as  she  crumpled  on  her  bed,  were  those  of 
youth's  protest  immemorial. 


CHAPTER  VII 

TWENTY-TWO  trunks,  a  diversity  of  Scotch- 
plaid  bags  confessing  golf  sticks  and  tennis 
rackets,  a  number  of  generous  hampers,  a  portable 
ice-chest,  three  or  four  maids,  two  valets — 
As  Hendy  watched  the  caravan  unload  he  shook  his 
head  ruefully.  There  was  no  mistake  this  time. 
The  great  world — dangerous,  destructive,  inter- 
fering— had  broken  through  the  ring  of  purple  hills 
at  last.  The  courier  came  up  and  touched  his  hat. 

"Mr.  Laurence  sent  the  baggage  direct  to  Paris," 
he  volunteered. 

Hendy  smiled.  "These,  then,"  he  said,  indicating 
the  impedimenta,  "are  merely  accessories'?" 

The  idea  amused  him.  Twenty-two  trunks! 
He  counted  them  again  as  they  lay  there  at  odd 
angles  all  over  the  courtyard.  Yet  the  baggage, 
the  real  baggage  had  gone  direct  from  Genoa  to 
Paris !  The  strangeness  of  this  glimpse  into  a  world 
that  had  once  been  his  own  world  brought  home 
sharply  to  Hendy  the  utter  isolation  of  the  life  they 
had  been  leading  in  Florence.  Hendy  had  n't  seen 

80 


GIBBETED  GODS  81 

a  trunk  for  seven  years.  The  sight  of  a  railway 
ticket,  he  felt  sure,  would  have  reduced  him  to 
nervous  panic. 

He  wandered  aimlessly  in  and  out  among  the 
heaps  of  trunks.  He  was  beginning  to  resent  their 
intrusion  bitterly,  realizing  they  would  of  necessity 
force  a  decision  that  he  had  been  avoiding  weakly 
ever  since  the  visit  of  the  Comtesse  de  Ferraud  a 
month  before.  Hendy  had  expected  the  excite- 
ment of  that  visit  to  result  for  Charlotte  in  the  rest- 
lessness of  dissatisfaction,  in  the  desire  for  opportu- 
nity to  exercise  those  powers  she  had  so  suddenly 
discovered  as  hers.  But  instead,  she  had  reacted 
to  a  tense,  strange  sadness  that  was  all  a  passionate 
clinging  to  the  old  life.  There  was  a  wistful  ten- 
derness in  her  dark  eyes,  which,  often  as  they  rested 
on  Paddy,  seemed  heavy  with  the  weight  of  unshed 
tears.  Hendy  had  heard  Charlotte's  choked  sobs 
the  night  the  comtesse  left.  He  had  wanted  so  in- 
tensely to  go  to  her,  but,  with  a  dull  ache  in  his  own 
heart,  he  could  have  offered  scant  comfort.  So  he 
had  stayed  away  and  lost  his  chance,  for,  after  the 
first  wild  outpouring,  Charlotte's  grief  had  settled 
to  a  suppressed  restraint  through  which  he  found 
himself  unable  to  penetrate.  Uneasy  speculations, 
vague  misgivings  filled  him. 

There  were  many  things  Charlotte  should  know, 
things  the  telling  of  which  he  had  put  off  too  long. 


82  GIBBETED  GODS 

It  was  impossible  to  guess  what  trend  of  thought  the 
comtesse's  visit  had  started  in  her  fertile  mind,  what 
tormenting  doubts  and  tragic  questionings  had  been 
quickened.  A  dangerous  period  for  her  to  be  thrown 
back  upon  herself,  upon  her  thoughts,  her  moods, 
her  turbulence.  Her  recoil  from  the  world,  that 
he  would  have  welcomed  so  eagerly  a  little  while 
before,  became  now  a  matter  of  nervous  worry. 
Charlotte  must  be  roused  from  the  melancholy  of 
too  deep  thinking.  There  seemed  but  one  logical 
solution,  a  trip  somewhere.  The  responsibility  of 
suggestion  was  quite  obviously  his. 

A  little  run  over  to  Paris !  A  couple  of  weeks  in 
England!  It  seemed  quite  simple.  Yet — Hendy 
vacillated,  with  all  the  while  the  complete  sense 
of  the  weakness  so  fundamentally  his.  He  was 
utterly  incapable  of  decisive  action. 

Then  had  come  the  telegram  from  Buchanan 
Laurence,  followed  two  hours  later  by  this  caravan, 
each  trunk  of  which  seemed  to  Hendy  a  malignant 
reminder  of  his  own  failure  to  do  the  thing  he  should 
have  done.  Of  course  the  Laurences  would  ask 
Charlotte  to  return  to  Paris  with  them  and  of  course 
Charlotte  must  go.  There  was  a  chance  the 
ultimate  decision  in  regard  to  that  might  fall  to  him. 
Charlotte  as  yet  had  no  sense  of  anything  beyond  her 
present  pleasure  at  seeing  Dolly  once  more.  In 
the  excitement  of  that  she  had  been  able  to  lose 


GIBBETED  GODS  83 

the  gloom  that  had  been  besetting  her  so  strangely  of 
late,  a  fact  that  pointed  to  Hendy  more  poignantly 
than  anything  else  the  efficacy  of  outside  diversion. 
Yes — Hendy  roused  himself  with  a  sigh  from  his 
reflections — there  was  no  question  about  it ;  Charlotte 
must  go  on  to  Paris  with  the  Laurences. 

Paddy  put  in  an  opportune  appearance  at  this 
point  of  his  reflections. 

"A  perfect  beauty,  but  a  perfect  nincompoop!" 
she  pronounced  decisively. 

"She  's  lovely,"  Charlotte  whispered  to  him  as 
she  joined  him  later,  and  the  warm  pressure  of  her 
hand  established  once  more  the  current  of  their 
Sympathy. 

Dolly  was,  indisputably,  lovely.  Fragile,  golden- 
haired,  with  her  translucent  eyes,  her  fine  trans- 
parency of  skin,  she  seemed  beyond  the  commonplace 
of  ordinary  reality.  A  fantasy  of  rainbow  mists, 
perhaps !  Or  an  elusive  wisp  of  cloud ! 

Charlotte  confided  to  Hendy  that  when  Dolly  was 
about,  she  herself  felt  like  a  great  big  Ethiopian. 
Dolly  was  singularly  uncommunicative,  a  luminous 
smile  her  one  revelation.  It  was  to  that  smile  Char- 
lotte played  up  now  with  an  even  greater  zest  than 
she  had  played  to  the  comtesse's  skepticism.  To 
win  Dolly's  approval — there  lay  her  joy!  That 
she  scored  with  Buchanan  Laurence  was  of  negligible 
importance  by  comparison,  although  an  occasional 


84  GIBBETED  GODS 

broadside  of  his  did  bring  a  flush  of  surprised 
pleasure  to  her  cheeks. 

Paddy  played  the  part  of  hostess  with  fitful 
flashes  of  her  old  brilliancy,  provoking  a  camaraderie 
under  the  easy  spell  of  which  the  most  trivial  ac- 
tivity took  on  the  nature  of  a  tremendous  lark. 
Random  parties  were  continually  being  put  into 
effect;  excursions  cropped  up  overnight  like  mush- 
rooms. A  new  Florence  was  discovered  and  gave 
up  its  secrets, — for  a  consideration,  of  course.  The 
Teatro  Salvini  was  duly  exploited,  the  food  at 
Bonciani's  sampled,  liqueurs  drunk  at  the  Piazza 
Vittorio  Emmanuele.  Then  there  were  the  races 
on  the  Cascine,  and  always  and  forever  a  game 
of  pallone  to  be  watched  and  staked.  Buchanan 
was  insistent  on  a  visit  to  the  Villa  Palmieri,  another 
to  the  monastary  of  Certosa.  Florence  was  spelled 
to  him  entirely  in  terms  of  the  Decameron  and  the 
golden  liquid  of  Val  d'  Ema. 

Dolly  suffered  herself  to  be  lured  into  a  gallery 
occasionally.  She  drooped  prettily  about,  emitting 
a  soft  sigh  now  and  then,  whether  of  emotion  or 
fatigue  it  is  impossible  to  say.  She  picked  a  rose  in 
the  garden  and  murmured  something  inaudible  but 
nevertheless  wistfully  appropriate  when  Charlotte 
took  her  out  to  inspect  the  Rowdy's  grave.  She 
toyed  with  Old  Man  Blink,  who,  heavy  with  the 
weight  of  years,  showed  himself  crabbed  and  resent- 


GIBBETED  GODS  85 

ful.  Dolly,  however,  had  but  the  gentlest  reproach 
for  his  ill  temper.  Only  in  Paddy's  presence  did 
Dolly's  lovely  calm  forsake  her.  Paddy's  joy  in  be- 
wildering the  poor  little  thing  was  an  unholy  one. 
She  questioned  her,  she  tormented  her,  she  made 
faces  at  her  till  Dolly  was  reduced  to  a  white  panic. 
Hendy  was  forced  to  intercede  eventually  and  saw 
to  it  from  that  time  on  that  Paddy  and  Dolly  were 
never  left  alone  together. 

But  all  in  all,  the  party  made  for  a  jolly  good 
time.  To  Charlotte  the  renewal  of  her  early  friend- 
ship was  a  tender,  beautiful  thing  that  was  to  restore 
her,  for  a  while  at  least,  to  a  bright  optimism.  Still, 
the  definite  suggestion  that  she  go  with  the  Laurences 
to  Paris  brought  a  momentary  stir  of  the  old  home- 
sickness. 

"No,  no !"  she  protested  sharply  and  held  Hendy's 
hand  tightly  in  hers  as  if  in  a  passionate  plea  for 
support. 

Hendy  met  her  eager  eyes  with  a  brave  show  of 
casual  indifference. 

"A  few  weeks,  Mignon.  You  should  know 
Paris—" 

Charlotte's  wide  eyes  were  full  of  a  tense  fear. 
Hendy  was  unable  to  bear  the  strange  light  of  them. 
He  turned  away. 

"We  might  join  you  in  a  fortnight,"  he  added 
weakly.  "Paddy  and  I—" 


86  GIBBETED  GODS 

"Ah !"  Charlotte  breathed  deeply  with  the  sudden 
relief  of  decision,  "I  will  wait  and  go  with  you  " 

What  she  wanted  was  a  little  respite,  a  chance 
to  think,  to  get  her  present  experience  in  the  proper 
perspective  before  rushing  on  to  more  .  Experience, 
after  all,  lay  not  in  actual  event,  but  the  nice  ad- 
justing of  event  through  the  balance-wheel  of 
thought. 

"I  will  wait  and  go  with  you!"  Charlotte 
told  Hendy.  But  she  had  forgotten  Paddy  was 
still  to  be  dealt  with, — Paddy,  who  now  with  a  cer- 
tain wicked  delight  reduced  her  once  more  to  the  sta- 
tus of  a  little  girl,  blithely  disposing  of  her  without 
question  or  consultation.  She  was  to  go  to  Paris 
with  the  Laurences;  that  was  all  there  was  to  it. 
So  when  Hendy  deserted  her  at  a  crisis  in  which  she 
was  attempting  to  assert  herself,  she  gave  in,  con- 
fused and  pained. 

A  wire  from  Paris  precipitated  matters. 
Buchanan  was  obliged  to  leave  at  once.  A  bustle 
and  rush,  a  confusion  of  maids  and  bags!  One 
last  look  over  the  parapet,  down  the  long  valley  of 
the  Arno,  one  last  tweak  of  Old  Man  Blink's  ears, 
a  quick  exchange  of  banter  with  Paddy,  and  Char- 
lotte found  herself  with  the  others  crowding  into 
the  carriage  that  was  to  take  them  to  the  station. 
Hendy  went  with  them,  a  little  more  restrained 
than  usual,  a  little  more  detached. 


GIBBETED  GODS  87 

Charlotte's  eyes  were  hard  and  bright  as  they 
met  his ;  the  good-by  at  the  station  was  a  formal  one. 
Then  suddenly  her  defiance  faded  out.  As  she 
looked  back  at  him,  standing  there  on  the  platform, 
he  seemed  so  tired  and  discouraged,  a  real  pain  in 
his  gray  eyes.  With  a  swift,  sharp  vision  of  that 
early  morning  they  had  entered  Florence  so  many 
years  before,  she  had  rushed  back  to  him  and  thrown 
her  arms  about  his  neck.  His  eyes  lightened  with  a 
quick  pleasure  as  he  held  her  to  him  and  kissed  her. 
Charlotte's  own  eyes  were  too  suffused  with  tears  to 
notice  the  peculiar  glances  exchanged  between 
Dolly  and  Buchanan  as  they  hurried  her  to  the 
waiting  train. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SO  from  the  tempered  yellow  glow  of  Florence 
Charlotte  was  precipitated  into  the  white  glare 
of  Paris,  the  Paris  of  the  Ritz,  the  fashionable 
restaurants,  the  theaters,  the  Paris  of  American 
plutocracy.  The  Comtesse  de  Ferraud  had  been 
communicated  with  and  extended  a  cordial  welcome. 
Charlotte  was  provided  with  a  maid,  her  wardrobe 
replenished.  Then  the  whirl  began.  There  hap- 
pened to  be  a  number  of  Americans  of  the  Laurences' 
own  set  in  Paris,  supplemented  by  the  comtesse  with 
an  anomaly  of  French.  They  dined  brilliantly  and 
lunched  and  danced.  They  ran  into  old  friends  and 
made  a  hundred  new  ones.  They  rushed  from  one 
thing  to  another  and  were  in  a  perpetual  state  of 
dressing  and  going  on  somewhere  else.  The  party 
became  the  center  of  attraction  to  camera  men 
and  reporters,  who  followed  them  everywhere  in 
noisy  confusion  like  so  many  camp  followers. 
Dolly,  as  one  of  America's  richest  heiresses,  was  the 
focal  point  of  interest  to  a  dozen  young  French 
counts  and  as  many  ambitious  English  mothers. 

People  seemed  not  quite  sure  of  Charlotte's  standing. 

88 


GIBBETED  GODS  89 

A  few  recalled  some  of  Paddy's  former  exploits. 
But,  as  to  that,  what  did  it  matter*?  For,  although 
Dolly's  prospects  and  Buchanan's  extravagance 
gave  the  party  its  prestige,  it  was  Charlotte's  bril- 
liance that  gave  it  distinction. 

Charlotte  was,  as  the  comtesse  had  recognized  at 
once,  essentially  continental.  Unhampered  by 
prejudice,  unrestrained  by  conventions,  she  was  able 
to  achieve  a  breadth  of  view  that  was  totally  un- 
American.  She  was  an  exceptional  linguist  and 
possessed  a  vigor  of  expression  that  marked  her  at 
once  as  a  dominating  factor  in  any  gathering.  She 
was  definite,  incisive,  subversive,  yet  never  aggres- 
sive. Her  frankness  in  discussion  was  amazing, 
but  the  steady  clearness  of  her  wonderful  eyes 
disarmed  all  criticism.  She  barred  no  subject — 
indeed,  why  should  she? — but  a  remark  of  ugly 
suggestion  brought  a  scathing  dismissal  upon  the 
offender.  It  had  been  for  Paddy  in  her  day  to 
amuse,  to  shock,  to  startle;  it  was  for  Charlotte  to 
control,  with  the  force  of  her  keen  intellect,  the 
vigor  of  her  unlimited  energy,  the  sharpness  of  her 
wit.  She  was  brilliant  and  she  was  beautiful ;  small 
wonder,  then,  she  was  acclaimed  the  success  of  the 
hour.  , 

It  was  a  period  of  intoxication  for  Charlotte. 
Everything  that  was  warm  and  sentient  and  eager 
within  her  quickened  to  a  responsive  glow.  She 


QO  GIBBETED  GODS 

adored  the  crowded  hours  of  bustle  and  excitement, 
of  adulation  and  applause.  She  loved  the  con- 
spicuous luxury,  the  extravagance  of  attention. 
The  lights,  the  music,  the  throngs  of  people  on  the 
boulevards !  Life  took  on  the  nature  of  a  brilliant 
kaleidoscopic  display  that  lacked  entirely  the  third 
dimension  of  reality.  Not  a  minute's  respite  for 
thought,  not  a  second  to  pin  impression  down  to 
fact!  Even  Dolly  existed  only  as  a  pair  of  lovely 
blue  eyes  to  smile  into  across  a  crowded  dinner-table ; 
a  vague  white  presence  to  kiss  goodnight.  Paddy 
and  Hendy,  too!  Shadowy  figures  of  an  existence 
that  seemed  far  away ! 

Yet — it  was  for  the  moment  when  Paddy  and 
Hendy  were  to  return  to  her,  take  on  again  the 
flesh  and  blood  of  a  substantial  nearness,  that  she 
was  essentially  accumulating  her  experience.  There 
had  been  erratic  scrawls  from  Paddy,  a  daily  letter 
from  Hendy,  calling  to  her  attention  a  picture  here, 
a  statue  there.  But  there  was  no  time  to  hunt  out 
the  picture  or  the  statue,  nor  yet  to  write  the  ex- 
haustive epistles  she  was  forever  planning. 

"Such  a  tumble  of  impressions!"  she  wrote.  "I 
can  only  wait  for  you  to  dig  me  out.  I  count  the 
days  till  you  come.  Plenty  of  time  then,  plenty  of 
opportunities!  O  moments  of  blessed  talk!" 

Two  days  before  Paddy  and  Hendy  were  booked 
to  arrive  Buchanan  Laurence  had  planned  a  coaching 


GIBBETED  GODS  91 

party  out  to  Versailles.  It  was  a  gorgeous  day,  the 
sky  a  deep  blue  of  intense  calm.  Charlotte  was 
quieter  than  usual.  Paddy  and  Hendy!  In  the 
very  thought  of  them  the  confusion  of  her  sensa- 
tions began  to  settle  to  a  steadier  throb  of  hap- 
piness. 

The  party  was  a  gay  one,  the  chatter  and  laughter 
incessant.  As  the  drag  swung  through  the  crowded 
streets  it  was  greeted  on  all  sides  with  a  voluble 
enthusiasm,  a  lively  curiosity.  This  woman  or  that 
was  pointed  out,  gossip  revived.  Flowing  veils, 
vivid  parasols,  extravagant  costumes! — the  horses 
consciously  checked  their  nervous  strength  as  if  to 
display  in  slower  progress  the  pageantry  of  their 
precious  freight.  A  cheer  went  up  from  the  by- 
standers 'as  Buchanan  Laurence  tooled  the  coach 
around  an  ugly  corner  with  neat  precision. 

Charlotte  was  on  the  box  beside  Buchanan.  Her 
interest  in  horse-flesh  was  a  genuine  one  and  he 
knew  it.  A  fine  point  in  driving  never  escaped  her. 
She  loved  the  delicate  response  of  the  horses,  their 
sensitive  reaction.  She  loved  it  all,  down  to  the 
smallest  detail,  the  creak  of  the  harness,  the  ex- 
halation of  steam  from  the  brown,  sleek  bodies, 
the  sway  of  the  drag.  As  they  swung  out  to  the 
more  open  spaces  she  breathed  deeply  of  the  fresh 
morning  air,  as  if  to  drink  in  still  greater  happiness. 
The  pounding  of  the  horses'  hoofs  echoed  in  her 


92  GIBBETED  GODS 

brain.  Paddy  and  Hendy!  Paddy  and  Hendy! 
She  smiled  to  herself  in  the  satisfaction  of  a  great 
content. 

The  day  proved  a  vivid  one;  then  in  the  evening 
they  drove  back  through  a  twilight  of  soft  shadows 
and  conscious  stillness. 

After  that  Charlotte  remembered  nothing  but  the 
telegram  that  the  light  disclosed  on  her  dressing- 
table.  It  was  brief  and  to  the  point:  Paddy  had 
been  called  to  the  States  on  business ;  she  and  Hendy 
had  sailed  that  morning  from  Genoa. 

For  a  blank  second  Charlotte  stared  incredulous. 
Then  as  the  words  grouped  themselves  to  a  slowly 
apprehended  meaning,  she  gave  a  sharp  cry.  A 
black  curtain  of  homesickness  shut  down  upon  her 
with  the  weight  of  dread  finality.  It  was  as  if 
Paddy  and  Hendy  had  been  taken  away  from  her 
forever.  Her  cry  broke  to  strange  gasping  sobs  that 
she  struggled  to  suppress.  Then  with  the  violence 
of  her  old  childish  emotion  she  had  thrown  herself 
on  the  bed  to  a  night  of  weeping  and  despair. 

The  cable  that  came  ten  days  later  announcing 
the  safe  arrival  of  the  steamer  in  New  York  brought 
the  first  glimmer  in  the  blackness  of  Charlotte's  de- 
pression. Yet,  those  about  her  had  no  intimation  of 
her  misery.  Buchanan  and  the  comtesse  had  taken 
the  matter  quite  casually.  As  for  Dolly — well — 
how  could  Dolly  be  expected  to  understand,  Dolly 


GIBBETED  GODS  93 

who  had  never  had  a  mother?  Charlotte  concealed 
her  homesickness  with  an  admirable  self-possession. 
She  was  a  little  more  hardly  brilliant,  her  wit  of  a 
new  mordacity.  She  began  to  see  things  as  they 
were,  to  discriminate  with  a  penetrating  clearness. 
The  glamour  of  Paris  had  faded  to  the  grayness  of 
a  dawning  disillusion,  and  she,  was  lonely  with  the 
dull  ache  of  a  great  loneliness  for  some  one  to  talk 
to  of  her  unhappiness. 

A  letter  from  Paddy  had  come,  bringing  a  little 
artificial  comfort.  There  had  been  some  financial 
adjustments.  "We  are  of  a  blessed  affluence  once 
more,"  Paddy  wrote.  "Spend,  my  dear,  spend! 
'T  is  the  greatest  of  life's  unwritten  laws."  A  few 
lines  from  Hendy  were  attached.  They  were  going 
to  open  the  Newport  house  again,  have  it  ready  for 
Charlotte  when  she  returned  with  the  Laurences  in 
the  autumn.  Then,  later,  they  could  all  go  back  to 
Florence.  Old  Man  Blink  had  stood  the  ocean 
voyage  stoically.  Paddy  was  buying  quantities  of 
new  clothes — 

Ah!  there  was  that  in  Hendy's  letter  that  really 
touched  the  well-spring  of  cheerfulness.  Paddy 
with  quantities  of  pretty  clothes  meant  again  the 
old  Paddy,  of  graceful  charm,  of  winsome  love- 
liness. And  an  autumn  in  Newport  at  the  old 
house!  Charlotte  attempted  to  tell  Dolly  some- 
thing of  her  thoughts. 


94  GIBBETED  GODS 

"Father  says  your  house  is  badly  out  of  repair," 
commented  Dolly,  with  blue-eyed  lucidity. 

Charlotte  smiled  with  amused  indulgence. 

"How  long  is  it  since  you  were  there  9"  Dolly 
queried,  still  pursuing  her  practical  vein.  "How 
long  were  you  in  Florence*?" 

"Seven  years!"  answered  Charlotte. 

Seven  years!  She  got  the  sweep  of  them  as  she 
spoke,  with  a  fullness  of  longing  to  have  them  back. 
She  closed  her  eyes  to  the  luminous  vista  of  the 
Arno  valley  in  the  purple  haze  of  a  fading  light. 
But  no !  Dolly  could  never  understand.  Charlotte 
was  thrown  back  once  more  upon  herself  and  her 
loneliness. 

The  stage  was  well  set  for  the  arrival  of  Billy 
Dunscomb,  who,  with  an  intuition  sharpened  by 
a  really  fine  love,  was  able  to  understand  and  give 
her  the  sympathy  she  craved.  Charlotte  was 
destined  to  be  Billy's  great  passion  and  for  a  few 
mistaken  weeks,  warmed  by  the  glow  of  his  response 
to  her  need,  she  judged  that  she,  too,  had  found  her 
supreme  experience.  In  reality  it  was  but  a  phase, 
necessary  to  the  maturing  of  her  character,  perhaps, 
but  significant  principally  in  the  great  crisis  of 
her  life  that  it  precipitated. 

Billy,  Cassimir,  and  Philip  arrived  at  Cherbourg 
on  the  Wilhelm  der  Grosse  and  came  immediately 
to  Paris.  Charlotte  looked  for  nothing  from  Philip 


GIBBETED  GODS  95 

and  got  nothing,  save  one  glance  of  shrewd  appraisal 
of  the  particular  sort  of  beauty  she  had  attained  with 
the  years.  Cassimir  was  too  loud  in  his  cordiality. 
But  one  glance  into  Billy's  frank  blue  eyes  and 
Charlotte  realized  she  had  found  the  friend  she 
needed. 

So  it  was  to  be  Billy, — Billy  with  his  brawn  and 
good  looks  that  had  made  him  the  most  popular 
football  star  of  his  day;  Billy  with  his  square  smile 
of  ever  ready  sympathy;  Billy  with  his  unbounded, 
intense,  unqualified  adoration  of  her. 

"You  should  never  judge  a  man's  morals  from  his 
own  actions  but  from  what  he  demands  in  his  wife." 

So  Paddy  had  pronounced  one  day,  with  her  usual 
glibness.  Arbitrary,  to  be  sure,  but  of  a  certain 
patness  that  characterized  all  of  Paddy's  random 
shots. 

Judged  so,  young  Billy  Dunscomb  was  a  paragon 
of  virtue.  For  it  was  the  fine  uprightness  of  Char- 
lotte, her  straightforward  moral  honesty  that  was 
her  strongest  recommendation  in  his  eyes.  Billy's 
millions  had  made  him  the  target  for  so  many  women 
of  easy  standards  that  it  was  remarkable  he  had  any 
sense  of  discrimination  left.  It  was  decidedly  to  his 
credit,  then,  that  he  should  react  to  a  girl  like  Char- 
lotte. His  love  for  her  endowed  him  with  an 
unusual  insight  that  enabled  him  to  see,  under  the 
mask  of  hard,  brilliant  sophistication  that  she  pre- 


96  GIBBETED  GODS 

sented  to  the  world,  the  tremulousness  of  the  girl 
on  the  brink  of  new  things.  He  saw  her  tender  and 
yearning,  eager  and  wistful,  with  a  compelling  lone- 
liness in  the  darkening  of  her  wonderful  eyes. 
Though  Billy  was  by  no  means  clever  ordinarily, 
his  love  now  gave  him  penetration. 

The  thing  was  inevitable.  Charlotte  talked  to 
him,  as  a  child  talks,  on  and  on,  with  the  glow  of 
happy  relief,  with  a  great  and  beautiful  assurance. 
She  talked  of  Paddy  and  Hendy,  of  Old  Man  Blink, 
of  the  Rowdy's  death,  of  Newport  and  Florence, 
of  the  seven  years  with  their  sweep  of  pensive  ex- 
perience, of  her  homesickness,  her  loneliness.  And 
Billy  listened  kindly,  the  eagerness  in  his  eyes  sub- 
dued to  meet  the  trust  in  hers. 

Yes,  the  thing  was  inevitable.  The  stir  of  sympa- 
thy and  the  haunting  solicitude  of  passion !  Strange 
inconsequent  blur  of  youth's  emotions ! 

Philip  began  to  take  the  matter  for  granted;  the 
comtesse  smiled  approval.  Buchanan  Laurence 
made  a  broad  sally  or  two.  Dolly  sought  Charlotte 
out  in  the  night  watches  and  invited  confidences. 
Charlotte  was  surprised  at  first  and  sought  to  explain. 
She  ended  by  shrugging  their  banter  away,  putting 
it  down  in  her  mind  as  incidental  and  in  very  bad 
taste.  She  reacted  to  Billy  the  more  as  a  result. 
The  comforting  warmth  of  understanding,  the  close 
intimacy  of  revelation,  the  glow  of  physical  contacts 


GIBBETED  GODS  97 

— yet  Charlotte  haH  no  sense  of  an  impending  crisis 
until  she  found  herself  one  night  in  Billy's  arms, 
with  a  surprised  acceptance  of  the  fact  as  the  only 
logical  climax  to  their  relation.  She  surrendered 
with  a  quiet  joy.  Billy  held  her  to  him  and  looked 
into  her  eyes.  Then  he  kissed  her  with  a  deliberate 
passion  that  carried  its  message  of  throbbing  in- 
tensity through  every  vein  of  her  vibrant  body. 
A  tremulous  joy  took  possession  of  her.  In  that 
first  blur  of  her  senses,  the  quiver  of  her  fine  nerves, 
she  read  the  transcendent  thing  she  had  conceived  as 
love.  The  warm  reality  of  a  vigorous  passion  she 
mistook  for  the  exaltation  of  a  spiritual  affinity. 

"Charlotte !"  Billy  murmured. 

Her  eyes  opened  to  the  urgency  in  his  own  ancl 
then  closed  again. 

This  time  her  lips  sought  his. 

Love!  Yes,  this  was  love!  And  as  she  rested 
there  in  the  warmth  of  close  embrace  she  felt  in  her 
poor  mistaken  youngness  that  supreme  experience 
was  ecstatically  hers. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THEY  were  all  booked  for  August  at  the  Deau- 
ville  races,  a  September  of  rustic  reaction  at 
Lord  Ashburton's  shooting-box  in  Scotland.  Then, 
back  to  America  in  October!  Billy  was  all  for  an 
early  marriage  in  the  autumn  and  Charlotte  agreed 
simply,  happily.  She  was  happy,  yet  her  happiness 
was  of  the  strange  unsubstantiality  of  a  bewildering 
dream.  She  felt  that  only  in  the  approving  glint  of 
Paddy's  eyes,  in  the  understanding  pressure  of  Hen- 
dy's  hand,  could  the  experience  attain  the  real- 
ity of  splendid  fact.  So  at  the  heart  of  her 
happiness  was  the  old  sick  loneliness  for  those  two 
so  far  away.  October!  Meanwhile  August  and 
September  had  to  be  covered  with  the  least  possible 
show  of  restlessness.  She  saw  not  so  much  of  Billy, 
for  they  were  a  very  busy  party.  He  was  thought- 
ful and  gentle  as  ever,  his  ardor  consciously  held  in 
check.  But  she  warmed  always  to  the  light  in  his 
eyes,  and  took  his  kisses  with  a  nai've  pleasure. 

The  others  had  accepted  the  situation  with  a 
deal  of  jocosity.  Having  a  pair  of  lovers  among 
them  added  to  the  general  zest;  activities  quickened. 

98 


GIBBETED  GODS  99 

With .  the  cable  of  sanction  from  Paddy  the  need 
for  secrecy  was  at  an  end.  The  newspapers 
pounced;  the  thing  flared  the  length  of  two 
continents.  Charlotte's  picture  was  flaunted  in 
every  newspaper  and  periodical  of  Europe  and 
America.  Paddy's  former  triumphs  were  recalled, 
Billy's  millions  conspicuously  dwelt  upon.  "Young 
millionaire  and  beautiful  fiancee!"  Charlotte  was 
confronted  with  herself  in  every  conceivable  costume. 
One  of  the  New  York  journals  printed  two  vivid 
pictorial  pages — "Around  the  clock  with  Miss 
Charlotte  Baird."  It  was  ridiculous;  it  was  pre- 
posterous; it  was  indecent,  but  it  was  amusing. 
"Where  under  the  heavens  did  they  get  it4?"  ex- 
claimed Charlotte.  But  the  thing  was  undeniably 
authentic.  She  awoke,  she  had  her  coffee,  she  read 
her  paper,  she  was  dressed  by  her  maid — so  it  went, 
with  graphic  illustration,  through  every  intimate 
detail  of  a  busy  day. 

In  a  way  the  notoriety  served  its  purpose,  for 
Charlotte  lost  a  little  the  sense  of  time.  She  was 
amused,  excited.  The  idea  of  Paddy  and  Hendy 
likewise  following  the  papers  seemed  to  bring  them 
closer.  She  could  just  hear  Paddy's  ridicule  of 
certain  press  sentimentalities ;  she  could  see  the  hurt 
resentment  in  Hendy' s  eyes  at  some  picture  that 
failed  to  do  her  justice. 

The  Dunscomb  millions !     They  had  counted  not 


ioo  GIBBETED  GODS 

at  all  in  Charlotte's  choice.  Gradually,  however, 
the  undue  emphasis  of  them  in  the  papers  brought 
her  a  certain  uneasiness.  She  read  a  new  signifi- 
cance in  Philip's  awkward  attempts  at  kindness,  in 
the  comtesse's  solicitations.  A  master  business 
coup, — so  her  Parisian  friends  interpreted  the  affair. 
Charlotte  resented  their  attitude  hotly.  Even 
Dolly  showed  herself  singularly  practical  in  the  dis- 
cussion of  town  and  country  houses.  Only  Billy 
understood, — Billy  and,  of  course,  Paddy  and 
Hendy. 

Paddy  had  cabled  her  to  buy  her  clothes  in  Paris, 
so  Charlotte,  under  the  comtesse's  deft  guidance, 
proceeded  to  indulge  in  an  orgy  of  extravagance. 
The  artistic  in  her  responded  to  subtlety  of  hue  and 
softness  of  texture.  She  adored  each  lovely  thing, 
glowingly  instinct  with  fragrance  and  light  and 
beauty.  But  the  fittings,  the  appointments,  the  con- 
sultations with  costumier  and  modiste,  though  rep- 
resenting the  very  material  and  practical,  made  the 
crowded  hours  the  more  unreal  to  Charlotte,  the  more 
lacking  in  perspective.  Time  and  tide  were  set  at 
naught;  night  turned  into  Hay.  Charlotte  felt  her- 
self giddy  with  the  whirl  of  events.  Then  by  an 
accident  fairly  trivial  of  itself  the  turbulence  of 
her  mind  was  clarified  to  a  cold,  crisp  lucidity  of 
thought.  It  was  as  a  chemical  reaction  that  brings 


GIBBETED  GODS  101 

out  of  clouded  murk  a  sudden  startling  transparency. 
Charlotte  emerged  from  the  experience  with  a  clear 
vision  undimmed  by  the  mist  of  circumstance. 

Billy  and  the  Comte  de  San  Moritz  had  gone  over 
to  Havre  to  see  to  the  disembarkation  of  some  of 
Billy's  horses  entered  at  the  Deauville  races.  The 
rest  of  the  party  were  to  follow  in  a  week.  One 
morning  as  Charlotte  was  breakfasting  in  her  room 
the  waiter  had  shown  a  sort  of  officious  embarrass- 
ment as  he  handed  her  the  morning  paper.  The 
man's  peculiar  attitude,  the  awkward  way  the  sheet 
was  folded,  aroused  Charlotte's  suspicions  at  once. 
But  she  could  control  herself  sufficiently  to  put  the 
paper  aside  and  eat  her  breakfast  with  a  semblance 
of  calm.  Yet  all  the  while  there  was  growing  with- 
in her  the  certainty  that  something  very  vital, 
perhaps  very  tragic,  was  about  to  happen  to  her. 
When  her  wants  had  been  filled  and  the  waiter 
dismissed,  she  picked  up  the  paper  quietly.  Contact 
with  the  outside  world  was  beginning  to  teach  Char- 
lotte the  necessity  for  self-control.  The  old 
impetuousness  was  there,  but  held,  for  the  moment 
at  least,  in  the  check  of  convention.  The  front  of 
the  sheet  had  been  folded  inside  by  some  kin'dly 
menial  below-stairs  to  save  her  the  shock  of  the 
prominent  head-lines.  She  stared  at  these  a  long 
time  to  get  the  full  significance  of  their  black  dis- 


102  GIBBETED  GODS 

tinctness.  Then  she  settled  herself  in  a  chair  and 
read  the  article  slowly  and  thoroughly  to  the  verv 
end. 

Billy  Dunscomb  was  being  sued  for  breach  of 
promise  by  one  Marguerita  DeWitt,  who  had  told 
her  story  to  the  reporters  with  tears  in  her  blue  eyes. 
She  had  been  a  telephone  girl  in  a  New  Haven  hotel. 
Ah!  Marguerita  sighed  pensively  at  the  thought  of 
those  happy  innocent  hours  of  switchboard  activities ! 
Then  Billy  Dunscomb  had  come  and  talked  of  love 
as  the  higher  law.  Marguerita  showed  a  pretty  re- 
luctance at  this  point  of  her  narration  but  suffered 
herself  eventually  to  be  led  on  to  a  charming 
frankness.  She  admitted  she  had  lived  with  Billy 
his  last  two  years  in  college,  expecting,  of  course, 
their  romance  to  reach  the  honorable  climax  of  matri- 
mony upon  Billy's  graduation.  The  poor  girl's 
dismay  upon  discovering  she  was,  after  all,  only  a 
"bauble"  to  Billy  was  a  terrible  thing.  She  had 
thought  of  suicide. 

Yes,  Marguerita  admitted  wanly,  she  had  gone  on 
the  stage  at  this  time,  but  she  was  not  happy  in  her 
work,  for  her  outraged  virtue  cried  out  night  and  day 
for  a  reprisal.  Then  she  had  read  of  Billy's  en- 
gagement in  the  paper,  and  the  next  thing  she  knew 
she  was  in  Paris.  She  felt  most  keenly  the  mortifi- 
cation of  all  the  publicity  in  which  she  had  become 


GIBBETED  GODS  103 

embroiled;  that  had  been  quite  outside  her 
calculation. 

"Miss  Charlotte  Baird?" 

Marguerita  took  her  cue.  She  spoke  of  Charlotte 
in  touching  terms.  Her  reluctance  to  give  pain  to 
another  woman  was  really  a  beautiful  thing. 

It  made  a  nice  story,  one  the  press  warmed  to  in 
all  sentimentality.  A  lovely  daughter  of  the  people 
debauched  by  the  hard-hearted  scion  of  wealth! 
The  reporters  outdid  themselves.  Quite  inciden- 
tally was  it  mentioned  that  several  New  York 
managers  were  vying  with  one  another  to  secure  the 
services  of  the  charming  lady  in  question.  The 
absurdly  high  figures  quoted  go  to  prove  philan- 
thropy is  not  a  lost  art  in  theatrical  circles.  The 
little  Marguerita  was  destined  for  a  spectacular 
career  behind  the  footlights. 

"The  girl  young  Dunscomb  treated  so  shabbily! 
You  remember  she  sued  him.  Yes,  game  little 
thing!" 

"Outraged  virtue  has  its  own  reward  on  Broad- 
way!" So  Paddy  had  pronounced  once  in  regard 
to  a  case  similar  in  point.  A  pretty  idea  this — the 
boards  as  a  haven  for  broken  hearts ! 

As  Charlotte  read  the  article  she  was  conscious 
of  nothing  at  first  but  a  sickening  sense  of  disgust. 
Then  came  the  ironic  perception  of  the  farce  of  the 


104  GIBBETED  GODS 

thing.  The  commercialization  of  a  sordid  entangle- 
ment; that  was  it.  A  case  of  blackmail  with  Billy 
the  victim!  But  this  perception  pointed  none  the 
less  the  great  fundamental  wrong  involved.  In 
the  unshrinking  analysis  of  that  wrong,  as  Charlotte 
now  sat  and  faced  it,  she  was  to  attain  a  steadied 
maturity,  with  capacity  for  fine  thought  and  will 
to  act. 

She  saw  this  episode  of  Billy's  as  indicating  the 
general  rottenness  of  a  social  order  that  took  so  for 
granted  the  immorality  of  its  men.  Virtue  was  a 
negligible  quantity  in  the  masculine  equation.  She 
realized  that  she  herself  had  known  all  along, 
vaguely  but  none  the  less  surely,  that  such  wretched 
entanglements  as  this  existed;  her  refusal  to  face 
openly  the  problem  of  them  had  constituted  a  sort 
of  condonement,  the  more  culpable  for  being  in- 
different. Charlotte  did  not  condemn  Billy  in 
particular;  she  saw  him  merely  as  a  victim  of  a  class 
tradition  which  she  herself  by  wilful  detachment 
had  been  helping  to  uphold.  It  was  against  the 
evil  back  of  the  whole  miserable  order  of  things  that 
she  reacted,  the  evil  that  was  in  its  essence  only 
weakness.  In  the  proud  strength  of  her  clearer 
vision  Charlote  could  be  intolerant  of  that  weakness. 
Sex!  It  came  down  to  that  every  time.  Sex  and 
indulgence!  She  saw  it  as  unnecessary,  objection- 
able, contemptible.  She  saw,  too,  that  the  attrac- 


GIBBETED  GODS  105 

tion  Billy  had  possessed  for  her  had  its  roots  in  that 
same  weakness.  A  physical  passion,  and  she  had 
thought  it  love !  Charlotte  was  Paddy's  own  child ; 
she  did  not  mince  matters,  seek  justification  for  her- 
self in  fine  phrases.  She  diagnosed  her  feeling  for 
Billy  and  condemned  it  ruthlessly.  By  the  light  of 
her  new  penetration  the  whole  scheme  of  their  Paris 
life  now  took  on  a  glaring  grotesqueness.  False, 
out  of  all  proportion  and  perspective,  vulgarized  by 
the  most  intolerable  interpretations  of  relationship! 
The  comtesse,  Buchanan,  Philip,  Cassimir — she 
seemed  to  find  herself  suddenly  in  a  world  of  clumsy 
intrigue,  of  sneaking  assignation. 

But  as  she  sat  there,  facing  ugly  facts,  there  came 
to  her  by  a  peculiar  sequence  a  certain  thankfulness 
as  of  a  sordid  danger  escaped.  A  strange  quiet,  a 
mellow  peace  slowly  pervaded  her  senses.  She 
closed  her  eyes  and  felt  herself  back  in  Florence  with 
Paddy  and  Hendy.  She  felt  an  extraordinary  ac- 
cession of  tenderness  that  brought  the  infinite  relief 
of  a  recovered  security.  Paddy  and  Hendy! 
Blessed  sanctuary  from  the  world's  evil!  She 
smiled  quietly  to  herself.  Then,  tired  and  worn, 
she  sank  into  a  reverie  that  was  all  a  luminous  vision 
of  a  future  painted  with  the  pigments  of  the  warm 
glowing  years  she  and  Paddy  and  Hendy  had  spent 
together  in  the  remoteness  of  the  purple  Tuscan 
hills.  They  would  go  back;  yes,  they  would  go 


106  GIBBETED  GODS 

back  to  claim  again  the  old  happiness  and  wonder  of 
tender  intimacy,  the  understanding  of  a  great 
love.  A  few  tears  gathered  in  Charlotte's  eyes,  but 
they  were  the  tears  of  content. 

As  Charlotte  dressed  for  dinner  that  evening  she 
was  conscious  that  her  morning's  struggle  had  left 
its  mark.  She  was  very  white,  a  deep,  lustrous  calm 
in  her  dark  eyes.  By  a  strange  accident  she  had 
dressed  herself  in  a  slinky  Paquin  gown  of  dull 
black,  that  lent  to  her  slender  figure  a  new  power  of 
dignity,  a  peculiar  aloofness.  It  was  this  very  aloof- 
ness, this  fine  poise  of  a  detached  self -sufficiency  that 
had  carried  Charlotte  triumphant  through  the 
activities  of  that  wretched  day. 

Dolly  had  come  to  her  at  noon,  excited  and 
flushed.  But  one  look  into  Charlotte's  quiet  eyes, 
and  the  feeble  little  joke  she  had  planned  at  Billy's 
expense  died  in  utterance.  Philip  had  watched  her 
at  lunch  with  an  ugly  narrowness ;  the  comtesse's  lips 
were  set  in  a  straight  thin  line  and  there  was  specu- 
lation in  her  eyes  as  they  followed  Charlotte's  every 
move.  Buchanan  cleared  his  throat  noisily  a  dozen 
times  preliminary  to  a  break  into  casual  discussion  of 
the  matter,  but — hang  it  all! — courage  failed  him. 
He,  too,  was  obviously  disconcerted.  Incidental  as 
such  scandals  were  in  the  general  run  of  things,  these 
people  could  still  be  uneasy  before  the  incalculable 
moves  of  a  fine  uprightness. 


GIBBETED  GODS  107 

Charlotte  carried  out  her  day's  engagements  with 
careful  detail.  Cassimir  had  mentioned  in  the  late 
afternoon  that  he  expected  Billy  on  the  midnight. 
It  was  of  this  Charlotte  was  thinking  as  she  sat  down 
to  rest  for  a  moment  before  going  downstairs. 
Yes,  as  things  had  straightened  out  in  her  mind,  it 
was  all  quite  simple  and  direct.  No  bitter  accu- 
sations nor  dramatic  sentimentalizing;  only  a 
straightforward  statement  that  she  had  been  mis- 
taken in  her  feeling.  To-morrow  was  Thursday. 
On  Saturday  she  could  catch  the  steamer  at  Cher- 
bourg. In  the  contemplation  of  that  end,  she  lost 
all  sense  of  the  irking  details  that  awaited  her 
meanwhile.  She  rose  at  last,  a  little  rested. 
Dinner  with  the  Comtesse  de  San  Moritz  was 
achieved  not  too  unpleasantly.  Then  they  went 
on  to  a  theater.  As  the  party  entered  the  lobby 
there  was  a  buzz  of  whispered  excitement,  a  rush 
and  press  in  their  direction.  But  the  curious  looks 
and  murmured  comment  affected  Charlotte  not  at  all. 
She  passed  through  the  throng,  the  very  pride  of  her 
dignity  stamping  as  cheap  and  incidental  the  sensa- 
tional show.  She  seated  herself  in  the  front  of  the 
box  unflinchingly. 

She  remembered  nothing  distinctly  about  the  rest 
of  the  evening,  except  that  they  had  gone  on  some- 
where after  the  play.  Then  she  was  sitting  in  her 
room  with  closed  eyes,  trying  to  summon  the  energy 


io8  GIBBETED  GODS 

to  get  undressed.  She  had  told  her  maid  not  to 
wait  for  her;  she  was  glad  of  that.  The  hotel 
seemed  very  still,  as  she  sat  there.  She  rested  in  the 
quiet  of  it  for  a  long  time.  Yes,  it  ought  to  be  quite 
simple.  She  had  been  mistaken  in  her  feelings. 
She  would  tell  Billy  that  and  he  would  understand. 
Then,  suddenly  conscious  of  a  step  outside,  she  rose 
quickly.  The  knock  in  the  stillness  sounded  hollow. 
It  was  Billy ;  she  knew  it  before  he  entered. 

"I  should  n't  have  come  up,"  he  said  as,  flushed 
and  excited,  he  took  both  her  hands.  "But  I 
couldn't  wait  until  to-morrow.  Charlotte,  you  don't 
know  what  I've  been  through.  I've  been  waiting 
hours  in  the  Deauville  station — and  then  the  trip  on 
the  train.  And  the  worst  of  it  is  I  have  nothing  to 
say.  It's  all  damned  true,  except  my  promising  to 
marry  her.  That  sort  of  thing  wouldn't  matter  to 
other  women,  but  to  you — you  are  different  and  I 
was  afraid.  Charlotte,  tell  me,  tell  me — it  can't 
make  any  difference."  So  poor  Billy  poured  out  his 
plaint  and  as  he  did  so  Charlotte  came  to  realize 
the  task  before  her  would  not  be  so  easy  as  she 
expected.  He  had  tried  to  take  her  in  his  arms 
as  he  talked,  but  she  held  him  back  gently.  He 
saw  in  this  her  opposition  and  burst  out  anew  in  a 
passionate  pleading.  Charlotte  was  his  by  right  of 
his  great  love,  his  need — 

Charlotte  was  passionately  sorry  for  him,  but  her 


GIBBETED  GODS  109 

resolution  held  for  all  her  pity.  She  drew  him  at 
last  down  beside  her  on  the  divan  and  in  a  low 
voice  tried  to  explain  something  of  her  feeling. 
She  stated  her  case  clearly.  It  was  not  that  she 
couldn't  forgive  him  the  scandal;  it  was  simply 
that  the  affair  had  opened  her  eyes  to  the  perception 
of  her  own  mistake.  She  did  not  love  him  in  the 
best  sense  of  love.  Her  explanation  was  a  lucid 
one,  but  poor  Billy,  in  the  confusion  of  his  emotions, 
saw  only  that  he  was  losing  her  and  in  his  stupidity 
still  harped  on  the  wretched  fluke  of  his  scandal. 

"It  is  not  that,"  Charlotte  repeated  wearily,  but 
Billy  continued  in  his  blundering  way  to  make  of 
that  the  vital  issue.  Then,  as  he  talked  on,  in- 
coherent in  his  eagerness,  he  was  to  strike  the  death- 
blow of  his  own  cause  by  the  strangest  of  accidents. 

"You  have  no  right  to  throw  me  over  for  that,'* 
he  cried  desperately.  "Those  things  go  on  every- 
where and  people  condone  them.  You,  yourself — 
look — look  at  Pacidy  and  Hendy — " 

There  was  a  confused  second  of  tragic  illumi- 
nation. Charlotte  gave  a  sharp  cry  and  put  up  her 
hands  in  a  mute  plea  for  pity.  Then  she  swayed 
and,  with  a  little  whimper  of  pain,  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands.  The  suffering  of  that  cry,  sounding 
as  it  did  the  depths  of  her  ignorance,  showed  Billy 
the  cowardly  thing  he  had  done.  Contrite,  com- 
passionate, he  knelt  by  her  side,  the  sense  of  his  own 


no  GIBBETED  GODS 

irrevocable  loss  merged  strangely  with  the  agony  of 
hers.  He  put  his  arms  about  her,  with  a  yearning 
tenderness,  then  drew  her  hands  from  her  face.  She 
let  him.  But  in  her  white  repose  as  she  turned 
toward  him  he  found  neither  the  passion  nor  the 
grief  he  had  expected,  only  the  calm  of  an  over- 
whelming prostration. 


PART  III 


PART  III 
CHAPTER  X 

THE  following  Saturday  Buchanan  Laurence 
took  Charlotte  to  Cherbourg  and  put  her  on 
the  steamer  for  New  York.  Buchanan  was  sorry 
for  the  girl.  Of  course,  she  'd  acted  like  a  damn 
fool,  the  Dunscomb  millions  forfeit  to  her  senseless 
pride.  Still,  such  complete  indifference  to  the  power 
of  money  compelled  Buchanan's  admiration.  The 
women  with  whom  he  had  to  do  were  of  a  dif- 
ferent order.  This  new  species  tickled  his  curiosity. 
Hang  it  all,  he  was  rather  glad  Charlotte  hadn't 
tied  up  with  Billy!  What  appreciation  could  a 
cub  like  that  have  of  a  woman  like  Charlotte*?  So, 
it  was  Buchanan  who  had  stepped  in  and  saved 
Charlotte  the  harsh  contacts  inevitable  in  such  a 
situation.  It  was  Buchanan  who  had  settled  with 
Philip  in  his  drunken  insolence;  it  was  Buchanan 
who  had  met  the  comtesse's  close-lipped  demand  for 
"certain  financial  guarantees." 

The  break  had  thrown  the  whole  party  into  a 
state  of  seething  exasperation.  As  no  one  knew  the 
exact  truth  of  the  matter,  speculations  ran  counter, 


114  GIBBETED  GODS 

with  the  result  of  high  words,  nervous  sarcasms, 
restless  irritability. 

Billy  had  come  and  gone — that  had  been  deter- 
mined at  the  hotel  office — but,  otherwise,  no  details 
were  forthcoming.  No  one  could  be  sure  of  any- 
thing except  that  there  was  more  back  of  the  busi- 
ness than  the  trifling  interference  of  the  DeWitt 
creature.  But,  whatever  the  disturbance,  Charlotte 
was  a  silly  fool.  That  was  indisputable,  the  one 
point  of  which  our  party  could  make  common 
ground. 

Charlotte  had  followed  Buchanan's  advice  and 
kept  to  her  own  rooms.  She  saw  no  one  but  Dolly, 
who  fluttered  in  and  out  making  feeble  little  sallies 
by  way  of  putting  Charlotte  quite  at  her  ease. 
The  conversation,  however,  invariably  resolved  itself 
into  an  exchange  between  Dolly  and  Charlotte's 
sprightly  French  maid,  who,  with  true  pointer  in- 
stincts, quivered  to  the  faintest  scent  of  scandal  in 
the  air. 

It  is  a  question  whether  immediate  contact  with 
the  ugly  opposition  of  Philip  and  the  comtesse  might 
not  have  proved  of  tonic  benefit  to  Charlotte.  But, 
as  it  was,  the  two  days  of  idle  waiting  dragged  an 
interminable  length,  the  first  dull  calm  of  her  pros- 
tration deadening  slowly  to  the  intolerable  weight 
of  a  bitter  condemnation.  It  was  as  if  everything 
young  and  bright  and  warm  and  sentient  within  her 


GIBBETED  GODS  115 

had  perished  miserably  in  the  cold  grip  of  her  dis- 
illusion. Charlotte  had  no  sense  of  protest,  of  pain, 
of  sorrow.  She  knew  only  that  she  felt  cold  and 
hard  and  old. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  day  she  found  herself  on 
the  steamer  at  Cherbourg,  saying  good-by  to 
Buchanan,  who  assumed  all  the  fine  airs  of  a  knight 
errant,  very  tender  of  his  rescued  lady.  That  there 
was  any  incongruity  in  her  immediate  return  to 
Paddy  and  Hendy  had  never  occurred  to  Charlotte. 
The  force  that  was  drawing  her  to  them  was  so 
resistless  that  she  had  never  thought  of  any  other 
contingency.  She  was  going  back  to  them,  that  was 
all  there  was  to  it.  But  she  could  still  question  in  a 
detached,  impersonal  way  the  motives  that  were 
actuating  her.  Why  was  she  going  back1?  And 
again  she  spared  herself  not  at  all  in  dis- 
passionate analysis.  She  was  going  back  to 
inflict  upon  Paddy  and  Hendy  the  hard  rod 
of  her  condemnation,  to  wrest  a  certain  bitter 
satisfaction  from  her  own  relentlessness.  Re- 
lentlessness !  It  was  that  in  her  before  which  she 
stood  fearful  and  surprised.  She  had  thought 
that  once  by  herself  on  shipboard  the  crust  of  her 
hardness  would  give  way  to  the  old  emotional  vio- 
lence. She  had  wanted  to  weep  wildly,  to  be  shaken 
by  a  passion  of  protest  that  would  work  itself  out 
eventually  in  some  order  of  compromise,  by  which 


n6  GIBBETED  GODS 

she  could  still  piece  together  in  a  pattern  not  too 
grotesque  the  shattered  bits  of  her  faith. 

It  was  a  stormy  trip.  Heavy  seas  swept  to  a 
heavier  sky-line,  and  always  that  moan  of  the  ship 
as  it  struggled  against  the  black  rush  of  the  waters ! 
Storm  and  stress,  conflict  and  violence!  Charlotte 
with  youth's  trend  to  the  dramatic  longed  for  just 
that  in  her  own  soul ;  and,  instead,  she  was  forced  to 
make  terms  with  the  dullness  of  her  strange  calm, 
the  monotony  of  her  hard  unyielding. 

She  was  indefatigable  in  her  activities,  tramping 
the  decks  unceasingly.  People  went  out  of  their 
way  to  be  kind  to  this  girl,  with  her  abrupt  manner, 
her  unflinching  dark  eyes.  They  knew  her  story  and 
whispered  about  it  among  themselves.  Charlotte 
met  all  advances  steadily;  it  was  not  in  her  nature 
to  shirk.  But,  for  all  her  daily  intercourse  with 
them,  her  fellow  passengers  were  as  unsubstantial  to 
her,  as  indistinct  of  outline  as  the  passing  figures  of 
a  pageant.  In  one  instance  only  did  she  get  the 
sharp  sense  of  individuality.  Roger  Canby!  She 
heard  his  story  from  a  nice  old  lady  who  recounted 
it  with  a  sad  satisfaction.  Roger  Winthrop  Canby 
was  an  artist  of  the  greatest  promise.  Poor,  but  one 
of  Boston's  finest  old  conservative  families!  His 
father  had  died  when  Roger  was  a  boy  and  the  poor 
dear  mother  had  struggled  and  agonized  ever  since 
to  educate  her  son  along  artistic  lines.  She  had 


GIBBETED  GODS  117 

sent  him  to  Paris  that  summer  at  a  great  sacrifice  to 
herself.  Then,  hardly  launched  in  his  activities 
there,  he  had  received  a  cable  that  his  mother  was 
dead.  A  very  sad  tale,  to  be  sure.  Charlotte  ad- 
mitted its  pathos  in  spite  of  her  reaction  from  the 
sentimental  rendering  of  it.  Then  one  day  on  the 
top  deck  she  saw  a  youtti  looking  out  over  the  turbu- 
lent expanse  of  waters,  a  bewildered  sadness  in  his 
eyes.  She  knew  him  at  once  as  the  hero  of  the  ol3 
lady's  story.  She  hesitated  a  second  as  she  passed 
him,  the  old  protective  instinct  astir  within  her.  So 
lonely  and  desolate  and  questioning  he  seemed !  But 
as  he  turned  to  her  pause,  there  was  something  in  his 
timid  grace,  in  his  tempered  restraint  and  the  fine 
quality  of  his  detachment  that  brought  her  a  sharp 
pang.  Hendy !  She  swung  quickly  about  and  with 
averted  eyes  continued  her  walk.  Yes,  there  was 
something  in  him  that  suggested  Hendy.  Her  sud- 
den pity  died  on  the  instant.  Strange  as  it  would 
seem,  it  was  of  Hendy  that  Charlotte  had  begun  to 
realize  herself  the  more  intolerant.  Paddy's  sin  was 
the  sin  of  perversity,  but  Hendy's  sin  was  that  of  a 
miserable  weakness.  In  the  hardness  of  her  own 
strength  Charlotte  felt  herself  capable  of  inflicting 
the  utmost  cruelty  upon  that  weakness. 

So  in  the  steady  accumulation  of  her  bitterness 
the  long  days  and  nights  of  the  trip  worked  to  an  end. 
The  last  day  out  Charlotte  encountered  Roger  again. 


ii8  GIBBETED  GODS 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  shy  recognition,  but  she 
passed  him  by.  After  all,  how  much  more  tragic  her 
own  home-coming  than  his ! 

She  telegraphed  at  once  from  New  York  to  New- 
port, deliberately  naming  a  later  train  than  the  one 
she  intended  to  take.  A  petty  subterfuge,  but  she 
could  not  endure  the  thought  of  Hendy  meeting  her, 
the  fine  quiet  of  his  eyes  quickened  with  the  joy  of  a 
recovered  happiness — a  joy  for  which  she  could  have 
now  only  a  harsh  impatience. 

Her  deception  achieved  the  desired  end ;  there  was 
no  one  at  the  Wickford  dock  to  meet  her.  She  took 
a  taxi  home  through  streets  that  awakened  no  thrill 
of  recognition.  Newport  seemed  strangely  unfa- 
miliar, coldly  alien.  She  reached  the  house  at  just 
half-past  four;  a  surprised  footman  let  her  in.  Tea 
on  the  terrace!  She  would  have  known  it  without 
being  told.  She  made  her  way  into  the  drawing- 
room,  took  a  cursory  look  around,  then  let  her  eyes 
rest  listlessly  on  the  view  disclosed  through  the 
French  windows.  How  she  had  loved  that  stretch 
of  lawn  with  pond  and  ocean  beyond!  She  heard 
voices  outside,  and  shivered  involuntarily.  Then 
she  stepped  quietly  out  on  the  terrace. 

Hendy  saw  her  first  and  rose  quickly,  but  the 
happy  surprise  in  his  eyes  faded  on  the  instant  to  a 
dull  blank  of  pain  as  Charlotte,  with  an  almost 


GIBBETED  GODS  119 

aggressive  indifference,  put  out  her  hand.  Their 
eyes  met;  then  Hendy  turned  away.  Hendy  had 
guessed  the  truth.  Paddy,  meantime,  all  a  flutter  of 
incoherence,  had  jumped  up,  clattering  a  cup  and 
saucer  to  the  ground.  It  was  a  part  of  her  nice 
irony  that  she  should  choose  this  moment  of  obvious 
crisis  for  a  particularly  effusive  embrace  and  an  ex- 
travagance of  endearments.  Charlotte  disentangled 
herself  from  her  mother's  clinging  arms,  with  a  sharp 
sense  of  being  put  at  an  unfair  disadvantage.  Then, 
taking  her  hat  off,  she  seated  herself  at  the  table. 

"I  '11  have  some  tea,  Paddy,"  she  said  coldly. 

"Dear,  dear  me,  I  forgot!"  cried  Paddy,  blithely, 
and,  seating  herself  with  many  apologies  for  for- 
malities overlooked,  proceeded  to  brew  the  demanded 
tea. 

"No  cream,  no  lemon,  no  sugar,  no  rum!"  she 
half-intoned  as  she  prepared  the  cup.  "Spartan — 
yes  that 's  what  you  are,  Charley,  Spartan  to  the 
finish!  Have  a  cigarette,  my  child*?" 

"No,  thank  you.;  I  don't  smoke,"  answered  Char- 
lotte, curtly. 

Paddy  wagged  her  head  impishly  as  she  inhaled 
her  own  cigarette. 

"Just  fancy,  Hendy ;  the  infant  does  n't  smoke. 
Paris  has  evidently  done  nothing  for  her.  I 
should  n't  be  a  particle  surprised  to  find  that  she 


120  GIBBETED  GODS 

still  believes  in  God  and — "  Paddy  paused  just 
long  enough  to  run  her  last  point  home  more  slyly, 
"those  ridiculous  old  ten  commandments." 

A  cold,  stubborn  anger  fastened  on  Charlotte,  as 
Paddy'  mocking  eyes  probed  her  own.  She  saw  that 
her  mother,  too,  had  guessed  the  truth  and  was 
making  sport  of  her  as  in  the  old  days.  But  in  the 
old  days  the  relief  of  tears  would  have  come  to  her; 
now  she  could  only  sit  there  in  grim  resentment. 
Hendy  began  hurriedly  to  question  her  about  the 
voyage,  but  Paddy  interrupted  with  her  usual 
suddenness  of  veer. 

"So  you  've  broken  your  engagement !" 

"Yes,"  Charlotte  said. 

Paddy  narrowed  her  glinting  eyes.  "It  can  be 
mended!"  she  commented. 

"It  will  never  be  mended !"  Charlotte  brought  out 
with  conviction.  She  could  meet  Paddy  on  the  open 
ground  of  direct  opposition.  "It  will  never  be 
mended,"  she  repeated. 

Paddy's  anger  flared  for  a  fitful  second.  "Be- 
cause a  woman  of  the  streets,  a  cocotte,  sees  fit  to  get 
herself  in  the  lime-light  is  no  excuse  at  all  for  you  to 
get  sentimental  and  raise  a  beastly  row — " 

Charlotte  faced  her  mother. 

"It  was  n't  over  the  cocotte  that  I  made  the 
beastly  row,  as  you  so  delicately  express  it,"  she  said 


GIBBETED  GODS  121 

with  cold  deliberation.  "Billy  told  me  a  few  simple 
truths,  that  was  it." 

"He  did  n't !"  put  in  Paddy,  her  momentary  anger 
lost  in  sudden  impish  delight.  "Then  Billy  's  no 
gentleman.  A  gentleman,  Charley,  never  tells  a 
lady  simple  truths — " 

Hendy  had  come  forward  now,  nervous,  uncertain. 
"Don't,  Paddy !"  he  protested.  Then  he  turned  to 
Charlotte.  "Charlotte,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Charlotte  turned  to  him  without  hesitation;  the 
mute  pleading  in  his  eyes  died  out  before  the  level 
indifference  of  hers. 

"Of  course  I  realize  I  've  been  a  fool,"  she  brought 
out  in  even  tones. 

"Hey,  diddle  diddle !"  cried  Paddy,  throwing  up 
her  hands  in  mock  confusion.  "The  cat  and  the 
fiddle—" 

"The  worst  of  it  is,"  Charlotte  continued,  "I  shall 
probably  go  on  being  a  fool — " 

"The  cow  jumped  over  the  moon,"  chanted 
Paddy.  "The  little  dog  laughed  to  see  such 
sport — " 

"I  shall  go  on  being  a  fool,"  Charlotte  repeated, 
"because  I  shall  always  go  on  believing  in  some- 
thing, if  it 's  only — "  She  turned  to  Paddy  now 
with  a  bright  hard  smile — "those  ridiculous  old  ten 
commandments." 


122  GIBBETED  GODS 

Paddy,  feeling  herself  included  in  the  conver- 
sation once  again,  gave  a  particularly  entrancing 
smile  as  she  finished  up  her  lay  with  a  fine  feeling  for 
dramatic  climax,  "And  the  dish  ran  away  with 
the  spoon !" 

Charlotte  turned  and  picked  up  her  hat.  "It  will 
be  easier  for  all  of  us,  perhaps,  if  we  drop  the  matter 
here,"  she  said.  "What  time  is  dinner1?" 

"Seven,"  Hendy  answered  in  an  uncertain  tone. 

Paddy's  eyes  glowed  and  glinted  as  they  followed 
Charlotte  to  the  door.  But  she  could  not  let  her 
go  without  one  more  flippant  goad. 

"Have  a  cigarette,  darling  child*?"  she  asked  with 
parrot-like  pertness,  again  proffering  her  cigarette- 
case. 

"No,"  answered  Charlotte. 

"Spartan  through  and  through!"  Paddy  dropped 
to  Hendy  in  all  sageness,  and  then  wound  up 
inconsequently : 

"And  the  dish  ran  away  with  the  spoon!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  note  of  impish  flippancy,  of  teasing  malice 
struck  by  Paddy  in  that  first  interview  was  to 
prove  the  dominant  note  of  her  attitude  toward 
Charlotte  in  the  months  that  followed.  If  Charlotte 
had  endowed  herself,  as  censor  of  her  mother's  sin, 
with  any  heroic  qualities,  a  few  days  of  Paddy's 
sportive  treatment  were  sufficient  to  point  her  mis- 
take. Not  that  Charlotte  had  ever  expected  Paddy 
to  play  conventionally  the  role  of  the  repentent 
Magdalene,  but  she  had  taken  for  granted  quite 
artlessly  that  her  own  stand  against  the  wrong  was 
of  a  sufficient  dignity  to  insure  it  an  impressive  re- 
spect. Instead,  she  found  herself  subjected  to 
absurd  belittlements  that  robbed  her  of  every 
claim  to  the  recognition  that  should  have  been 
properly  hers.  Paddy  worried  her;  Paddy  tor- 
mented her;  Paddy  chivied  her.  Paddy  sought 
her  out  effusively,  whereas,  in  the  old  days  of  her 
ineffable  adoration  of  Paddy,  Paddy  had  let  her 
alone.  It  was  as  if  Paddy  were  forever  seeking  a 
weak  point  in  the  armor  of  Charlotte's  hard  in- 
tolerance through  which  she  might  hope  to  probe  a 

123 


124  GIBBETED  GODS 

nerve.  At  times  she  assumed  an  attitude  of  meek 
dependence  on  Charlotte,  calling  her  in  consultation 
in  regard  to  this  or  that.  The  gross  misconduct  of 
one  of  the  maids,  for  example!  She  showed  her- 
self eager  for  talks  of  an  intimate  nature;  with 
downcast  eyes  she  asked  advice.  Then  again 
the  lightning  of  her  ridicule  would  flare  out  and  play 
over  Charlotte  with  lambent  tongues  of  mockery. 
In  the  end  Charlotte  discovered  that  only  by  a  con- 
sistent aggressiveness  could  she  hope  to  make  a  stand 
against  Paddy's  insidious  trickery.  A  new  metallic 
sound  crept  into  Charlotte's  voice;  a  hard  defiance 
showed  in  her  eyes.  She  was  brusque;  she  was 
intolerant;  she  was  cynical. 

By  an  accident  of  perverse  circumstance,  although 
it  was  Paddy  who  provoked  in  Charlotte  this  new 
destructive  phase,  it  was  Hendy  who  was  essentially 
the  victim  of  it.  Whereas  Paddy's  attacks  put  her 
on  her  mettle,  Hendy's  passive  acceptance  of  her 
edicts  aroused  only  contempt.  The  look  of  subdued 
pain  that  became  a  part  of  his  gray  eyes,  the  apolo- 
getic quaver  of  his  voice,  the  gentleness  of  his  self- 
effacement  wrought  to  Charlotte's  harsher  intoler- 
ance, developing  in  her  as  well  an  unexpected 
cruelty  that  could  take  mean  advantage  of  a 
weakness  so  ingenuously  exposed. 

They  met,  the  three  of  them,  as  they  had  always 
met,  at  luncheon,  at  tea,  at  dinner.  They  talked  of 


GIBBETED  GODS  125 

people  and  books  and  paintings.  Paddy  did  most 
of  the  open  talking,  with  Charlotte  to  pull  her  up, 
now  and  then,  on  facts.  Hendy  had  occasional 
ideas  which  he  consistently  lost  track  of  before 
the  hard  gaze  of  Charlotte's  dark  eyes  and  the  clear- 
ness of  her  logic.  An  incisive  demand  that  he  state 
his  reasons  for  one  preference  or  another  was  the 
signal  for  the  complete  disintegration  of  all  his 
forces  of  argument.  It  was  pathetic,  it  was  tragic; 
but  Charlotte  with  all  the  arrogance  of  youth's 
presumption  not  once  relented. 

In  the  matter  of  her  painting  Hendy  was  made  to 
feel  most  pointedly  the  outsider.  He  had  fitted  up 
in  preparation  of  her  coming  a  studio  on  the  top 
floor,  giving  it  the  most  careful  thought.  She  had 
taken  possession  two  days  after  her  arrival  without 
a  word  of  comment  or  a  murmur  of  appreciation. 
She  began  to  paint  diligently,  not  with  the  old  vision 
of  high  achievement  for  another's  sake,  but  in  the 
vain  hope  of  creating  something  beautiful  and  tender 
to  soften  the  harsh  outlines  of  her  unhappiness.  She 
developed  a  new  surety  of  touch,  an  accuracy  of  line. 
She  would  paint  indefatigably,  hopefully,  for  hours 
at  a  stretch.  Then  one  slight  brush  stroke,  a  deeper 
shadow,  and  the  picture  would  be  discarded,  placed 
against  the  wall,  to  exist  only  as  a  reminder  of 
another  dead  inspiration. 

Hendy    strolled    in    occasionally.     He   saw    the 


126  GIBBETED  GODS 

marked  improvement  in  her  technique  and  told  her 
so,  but  she  treated  his  comments  as  incidental.  She 
never  worked  when  he  was  there,  but  would  sit  quite 
still  as  he  wandered  about  smoking  a  restless  cigar- 
ette. Very  soon  his  visits  ceased  entirely. 

So  the  days  passed.  As  in  the  years  of  their 
Florentine  existence,  they  lived  a  life  singularly  free 
of  outside  contacts.  Charlotte  saw  nobody  but 
Paddy  and  Hendy  and  the  servants :  she  scarcely  ever 
read  a  newspaper.  Then  in  December  the  Laurences 
and  with  them  Billy  Dunscomb  returned  from 
Europe.  Paddy  had  impudently  waved  a  sheet  of 
Sunday  newspaper  in  Charlotte's  face  and  Charlotte 
found  herself  confronted  all  too  closely  with  a  big 
picture  of  Billy.  She  pushed  the  paper  aside  im- 
patiently and  went  on  with  her  own  reading.  Then 
she  thought  of  Dolly. 

"When  did  they  dock?"  she  asked. 

"Yesterday,"  answered  Hendy. 

Then  suddenly  the  words  Paddy  was  stringing 
together  in  the  haste  of  headlong  curiosity  began 
to  take  on  meaning.  A  mumble,  a  mutter  of  blurred 
conning,  a  chuckle,  with  the  salient  points  of  fact 
as  milestones  by  the  way ! 

William  Dunscomb  had  at  last  agreed  to  a 
financial  settlement  with  Miss  Marguerita  DeWitt, 
the  poor  girl  he  had  so  woefully  wronged  in  his 
college  days. 


GIBBETED  GODS  127 

It  came  down  to  that  in  the  essence.  Then,  a 
sudden  slue!  Ah!  "Miss  Charlotte  Baird,  the 
beautiful  young  society  girl — "  Paddy  looked 
up  and  gave  Charlotte  an  inimitable  little  wink. 
Then,  "Ma  foil  they're  after  me  again!"  she 
ichuckled.  "Patricia  Warren — hum — ha!  No, 
they  're  wrong  there.  That  was  at  Deauville,  not 
Longchamps.  He  was  n't  a  duke,  only  a  count,  and 
I  never  could  stand  the  creature,  anyway.  Really, 
these  post  mortems  are  too  absurd.  Dead  fruit  of 
fugitive  years.  That 's  something  you  '11  escape, 
Charley,  because  you  're  a  good  woman — Ah ! 
Now,  what's  this?" 

Paddy's  incoherence  clarified  on  the  instant.  She 
sat  up  perfectly  straight  and  read  out  with  a  ringing 
Histinctness : 

"It  is  stated  on  good  authority  that  the  quarrel 
between  Mr.  Dunscomb  and  Miss  Baird  has  been 
made  up.  Their  marriage  is  expected  to  take  place 
in  the  early  spring." 

There  was  a  second's  stillness  as  Paddy  finished. 
Charlotte  had  had  all  through  Paddy's  frivolous 
commentaries  the  sense  of  an  expected  climax. 
Paddy  had  known  from  the  beginning  what  was 
coming,  so  Charlotte  judged  shrewdly,  and  took 
immediate  action  on  the  suspicion  aroused. 

Paddy's  eyes  finally  came  around  to  her  daughter 
and  she  gave  her  a  smile  of  piercing  sweetness. 


128  GIBBETED  GODS 

"That  must  be  contradicted,"  Charlotte  said 
firmly. 

"Why  should  it*?"  Paddy  asked,  surprised. 

Hendy  left  the  room  quietly.  Charlotte  held  her 
mother's  eyes  as  she  stated  quietly : 

"You  put  that  in  the  paper,  Paddy." 

Paddy's  indignation  was  a  dramatic  one. 

"I?"     She  cried  in  a  shrill  tone.     "IT 

Then  her  wide  incredulous  eyes  narrowed  to  two 
glinting  slits  and  she  nodded  her  head. 

"You're  smarter  than  I  thought,  Charley!"  she 
said  with  a  new  warmth  of  approval  in  her  voice. 
"Well,  what  if  I  did?" 

Charlotte  kept  her  temper  well  in  hand  as  she 
asked,  "Why  did  you  do  if?" 

Paddy  had  recourse  to  the  truth  now,  which  she 
told  glibly  and  with  an  obvious  relish  for  the  trickery 
exposed.  She  had  borrowed  large  sums  of  money 
that  summer  on  the  security  of  Charlotte's  engage- 
ment. Indeed,  it  was  on  what  was  left  of  that 
money  that  they  were  living  at  present.  Only  in 
fostering  the  idea  of  a  reconciliation  could  they  pos- 
sibly hope  to  keep  off  their  creditors. 

Charlotte  stared  at  her  mother,  dismayed  and 
(disgusted  at  this  new  vista  of  sordid  barter,  of  mean 
manceuver,  opened  up  so  casually.  A  sickening 
sense  of  helplessness  swept  her.  What  possible 
chance  of  firm  foothold  in  this  quicksand  of  shifting 


GIBBETED  GODS  129 

intrigue?     She    closed    her    eyes    one    despairing 
second. 

"I  presume  Buchanan  Laurence  settled  with  the 
comtesse  for  your  Paris  debts,"  Paddy  went  on  to 
explain  lucidly. 

"Ah,  no!"  This  brought  Charlotte  to  her  feet 
with  a  sharp  protest. 

"A  beautiful  guaranty!"  Those  words  came 
back  to  her  now  with  a  terrible  significance.  The 
comtesse,  too,  had  been  making  a  gamble  of  her 
prospects.  She  saw  it  all  now  quite  clearly.  And 
Buchanan  had  settled  for  her  debts ! 

"I  will  pay  him  back !  I  will  pay  him  back !"  was 
all  she  could  find  to  say. 

"How*?"     Paddy  pressed  grimly  for  particulars. 

Then  Paddy's  anger  flared. 

"What  a  fool  you  are !  A  fool !"  she  cried.  "If 
you  don't  look  out  we'll  all  land  in  the  gutter!" 
Her  violence,  however,  was  capable  of  sustaining  it- 
self only  briefly.  In  the  droll  picture  she  now  pro- 
ceeded to  paint  of  their  all  disporting  themselves  in 
the  gutter,  amusement  easily  displaced  her  wrath. 

"As  for  me,"  she  wound  up,  "I  think  I  'd  rather 
fancy  gutter  etiquette,  but  as  for  you  and  Hendy — " 
She  put  back  her  head  and  laughed  gaily.  "No,  you 
two  were  never  cut  out  for  gutter  purposes !" 

Charlotte  gathered  up  the  newspapers,  strewn 
carelessly  over  the  floor,  and  placed  them  in  neat 


130  GIBBETED  GODS 

piles  on  the  center-table.  It  was  as  if  she  were  try- 
ing to  get  a  little  order  out  of  the  chaos  of  her  own 
mind.  When  she  had  finished  she  turned,  with  re- 
covered composure,  to  Paddy. 

"Will  you  contradict  it  or  shall  I?"  she  asked 
quietly. 

"It?  What?"  Paddy  was  struggling  with  the 
flicker  of  a  match  that  refused  to  impart  its  light  to 
her  cigarette.  The  process  was  a  delicate  one. 

Charlotte  waited  a  minute,  then  repeated  her 
question,  without  further  elucidation,  however. 

"Will  you  contradict  it  or  shall  I?" 

Paddy  took  it  direct  now. 

"Of  course  you  know  I  'm  not  to  be  trusted,"  she 
reminded  Charlotte  maliciously. 

"I  didn't  know  until  just  now,"  Charlotte 
answered.  Then,  "Very  well,  I'll  do  the  contra- 
dicting." 

"You're  determined'?"  queried  Paddy,  sharply. 

"Absolutely,"  answered  Charlotte. 

"You  know  what  it  means?" 

"I  think  so;  we've  had  creditors  to  deal  with 
before." 

Paddy  sighed  deeply,  shrugged,  settled  herself 
in  her  lounging-chair,  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"Que  le  bon  Dieu  dispose!"  she  said  with  gay 
insouciance,  then  added  as  an  afterthought,  "But 
what  can  you  expect  of  a  good  woman !" 


CHARLOTTE  made  a  direct  statement  to  the 
newspapers  the  next  day,  contradicting  the 
report  of  her  reconciliation  with  Mr.  Dunscomb. 
Paddy  corroborated  effusively  everything  her 
daughter  had  to  say,  with  a  fine  indignation  that 
such  erroneous  rumors  should  be  put  in  circulation. 

"It's  simply  preposterous,"  she  told  a  local  re- 
porter. "I,  for  one,  should  never  consider  a 
readjustment!"  Then  she  lowered  her  voice  confi- 
dentially. "I  'm  not  prepared  as  yet  to  say  there  is 
some  one  else,  but — "  Charlotte's  presence  unfortu- 
nately prohibited  the  following  out  of  this  new 
inspiration,  and  the  reporter  was  too  stupid  to  take 
a  hint.  So  the  matter  perforce  ended  there. 

Then  the  creditors  closed.  Charlotte  had  thought 
she  knew  what  to  expect,  but  this  particular  on- 
slaught, destined  to  be  the  climacteric  one,  was  to 
prove  an  ordeal  of  unexpected  crises  and  irking  par- 
ticulars. Charlotte  found  herself  subjected  at  every 
turn  to  the  most  incredible  insolence.  There  was  a 
general  attachment.  The  servants  left  in  a  body. 
Confusion  reigned.  Dull,  stupid-eyed  men  went 

131 


132  GIBBETED  GODS 

about  with  stolid  satisfaction,  feeling  of  the  heavy 
draperies,  sounding  the  cutglass;  others  with  their 
hats  on  argued  volubly  in  the  halls  and  stared 
awkwardly  as  Charlotte  passed  by.  It  was  hideous ; 
it  was  intolerable;  and  through  all  the  din  Paddy's 
voice  rose  shrilly  to  mock  her  chagrin. 

Mr.  Robinson  had  hastened  to  the  scene.  No 
possible  help  could  be  looked  for  from  the  Warrens 
and  the  Bairds.  To  declare  bankruptcy,  that  was 
the  only  solution. 

"Blessed  idea!"  cried  Paddy. 

Bankruptcy  meant  to  Paddy  rather  a  sell  on  her 
creditors.  A  sop  of  two  or  three  cents  on  the  dollar, 
and  then  a  fresh  start  with  full  credit  and  unblem- 
ished reputation!  Blessed  idea,  indeed! 

So  bankruptcy  it  was,  executed  in  the  best 
traditions  of  fashionable  lore. 

"Do  we  send  out  cards?"  Paddy  had  wanted  to 
know.  "And  is  n't  there  some  etiquette  as  to  the 
proper  length  of  retirement  afterward?" 

The  affair  got  more  than  its  share  of  newspaper 
notoriety.  Society  gave  a  confirmatory  nod ;  the  end 
had  been  in  view  for  some  time.  But  what  under 
the  heavens  would  the  Bairds  do  next*?  Charlotte's 
mix-up  had  been  rather  an  ugly  one.  Buchanan 
Laurence,  himself,  admitted  that  he  had  settled  her 
Paris  bills.  Of  course,  Charlotte  was  Dolly's  best 
friend,  but,  even  so,  it  had  to  be  admitted  there  was 


GIBBETED  GODS  133 

something  to  be  said  for  young  Billy  Dunscomb. 
Evidently  Paddy's  daughter  was  as  unscrupulous  as 
Paddy  herself,  and  might  be  expected  to  live  up  to 
as  spectacular  a  standard.  However — this  sen- 
tentiously — time  would  tell. 

Meanwhile,  the  events,  subsequent  to  the  Bairds' 
declaration  of  insolvency,  were  anything  but  spec- 
tacular. Inventories  and  price-lists,  hundreds  of 
them — that  was  what  it  came  down  to.  Hendy  and 
Charlotte  toiled  unceasingly.  So  did  Paddy,  though 
she  managed  to  extract  a  pleasurable  titillation  from 
the  performance  that  the  others  quite  failed  of. 
Equipped  with  odd  scraps  of  paper  and  a  stubby 
pencil,  Paddy  went  through  the  storehouse  of  her 
treasures.  The  list  achieved,  evidence  of  her  faith- 
ful toil,  always  got  itself  lost;  the  pencil  refused  to 
write,  but  Paddy  went  glibly  on. 

She  attacked  Charlotte  and  Hendy  one  day  as  they 
were  listing  the  pictures.  She  had  discovered  in  her 
possession  bread-and-butter  spreaders  to  the  number 
of  two  hundred  and  eighty-eight,  which  number, 
granted  even  their  sole  diet  in  the  future  was  to 
consist  of  bread  and  butter,  Paddy  considered  a  bit 
excessive.  Now,  what  did  Charlotte  and  Hendy 
think1?  Paddy's  idea  was  to  dispense  with  all  save 
a  necessary  few — say  ninety-nine  for  instance. 
That  would  be  thirty-three  apiece. 

"What  do  you  say,  'darling  child?"  she  wound  up 


134  GIBBETED  GODS 

with  a  nod  and  a  grimace  in  Charlotte's  direction. 

Paddy  took  her  greatest  delight  in  wanton 
exaggeration. 

Yes,  there  was  no  question  about  it,  Paddy  was 
having  a  beautiful  time.  She  attached  unto  herself 
an  old  colored  man,  destined  originally  to  do  the 
heavy  work.  But  old  Joe's  heavy  work  resolved 
itself  very  soon  into  trailing  around  after  the  in- 
corrigible Paddy  and  laughing  at  all  her  jokes. 
There  was  something  undeniably  cheerful  about  this 
genial  uproar;  it  would  have  been  far  better  for 
Charlotte  and  Hendy  had  they  attacked  their  work 
with  less  grimness. 

Buchanan  Laurence,  on  a  week-end  visit  at  one 
of  the  farms,  had  come  to  see  them.  He  was 
genuinely  dismayed  at  the  turn  things  had  taken  and 
wanted  to  help.  Charlotte  was  firm  in  her  refusal. 
Still,  for  all  that,  she  displayed  a  new  self-conscious- 
ness in  his  presence.  She  was  unable  to  lose  the 
intolerable  sense  of  her  obligation  to  him,  so  she 
avoided  his  eyes.  Buchanan  liked  her  in  this 
phase. 

"You  must  go  to  Palm  Beach  with  us  in  January," 
he  said.  "Dolly  and  I—" 

Ah,  Dolly!  Charlotte  brightened.  Her  recol- 
lection of  Dolly  was  the  one  thing  untarnished  in 
the  whole  of  her  Parisian  experience.  But  even  as 


GIBBETED  GODS  135 

Paddy  rushed  in  with  a  voluble  acceptance  of  the 
invitation,  Charlotte  shook  her  head. 

"I  intend  to  work  now,"  she  said;  "paint  for  a 
living — " 

"Paint  Dolly,"  suggested  Buchanan,  promptly. 

Charlotte  weighed  this  as  Paddy  said  something 
appropriate  and  sentimental  about  first  friends  and 
first  commissions. 

Charlotte  committed  herself  in  no  way,  however. 
Paddy  took  Buchanan  to  the  door.  Charlotte  rose 
quickly  and  followed  with  a  furtive  sense  of  guilt. 
She  did  not  trust  Paddy.  Paddy  turned  and  be- 
stowed on  her  a  matchless  little  wink  that  had  in  it 
no  resentment  whatever  of  her  Hear  (laughter's 
distrust,  only  a  bright  desire  to  impart  to  that  dear 
daughter  the  fact  that  she  was  indisputably  "on." 

The  day  came,  after  weeks  of  disorganized  ac- 
tivities, when  Paddy  and  Hendy  and  Charlotte  were 
left  alone.  The  house  was  for  sale;  flagrant  no- 
tices of  that  fact  hit  the  eye  at  every  turn.  But, 
even  so,  the  temporary  haven  of  a  home  is  some- 
thing !  The  last  express  wagon,  loaded  to  capacity, 
had  rattled  down  the  driveway;  the  'auctioneer  and 
collector  had  struck  their  final  bargain.  Paddy  had 
cut  short  Mr.  Robinson's  farewell  bit  of  querulous 
advice  by  hustling  him  off  to  his  train  a  good  half- 
hour  too  soon.  The  front  door  banged,  and  they 


136  GIBBETED  GODS 

were  alone,  the  three  of  them,  confronted  by  a  long 
stretch  of  uninterrupted  intimacy  with  its  dull 
problem  of  relation. 

They  had  gone  to  the  living-room  and  sat  down 
wearily.  Even  Paddy  admitted  to  fatigue.  The 
room  was  a  cheerless  one.  Hendy  had  managed 
to  save  a  few  fine  rugs  and  tapestries,  but  these  had 
found  their  way  to  Charlotte's  studio.  A  divan, 
some  chairs,  several  tables,  all  rescued  from  the 
servants'  hall,  made  for  the  present  comfort  of  the 
room  in  which  they  found  themselves.  Paddy's  eyes 
wandered  about  curiously. 

"So  this  is  respectability!"  she  brought  out  at 
last.  ''Mission  furniture  and  domestic  rugs — the 
apotheosis  of  middle-class  morality !" 

However,  even  an  atmosphere  of  middle-class 
morality  could  not  depress  Paddy's  spirits  for  more 
than  a  fleeting  second.  If  bankruptcy  had  proved 
less  rosy  of  reality  than  of  vision,  it  mattered  very 
little  in  the  long  run.  Paddy  reacted  with 
ebullience.  Besides,  in  the  new  order  of  things, 
there  was  Mary.  Never  in  Paddy's  whole  career 
had  she  found  any  one  as  absorbing  as  Mary.  Mary 
was  the  general  servant,  an  Irishwoman  of  brawn 
and  brogue.  Mary  had  never  seen  any  one  like 
Paddy  before  and  treated  her  like  a  pet  monkey. 
This  suited  Paddy  to  a  nicety.  She  chattered,  she 
grimace'd,  she  played  tricks;  she  showed  off  shame- 


GIBBETED  GODS  137 

lessly.  She  was,  as  it  were,  put  on  her  mettle  to  do 
justice  to  the  traditions  of  her  tribe,  and  concocted 
a  hundred  absurdities  daily.  But — and  herein  lay 
a  fine  point — not  once  was  Mary  allowed  to  overstep 
the  bounds  of  a  servile  deference.  If  Paddy  chose 
to  be  the  monkey,  it  was  the  monkey  who  boasted  in 
her  veins  the  blood  of  simian  dynasties.  As  to 
Mary's  own  lineage,  there  were  no  illusions  on  either 
side  to  be  sustained  as  to  that. 

"La  Rochefoucauld!  You've  never  heard  of  La 
Rochefoucauld,  Mary*?"  So  it  drifted  to  Charlotte 
one  day  through  the  kitchen  windows.  "But  that  Js 
just  what  I  might  have  expected  from  a  low-down, 
illiterate  Irishwoman!"  Yes,  Paddy  had  defined 
things  quite  clearly  from  the  beginning. 

Yet  again:  "Caste!  Yes,  it's  caste,  you  poor 
dear  ignorant  thing,  that  makes  the  world  go  round !" 
And  Mary  accepted  it  with  simple,  delighted  faith. 

Paddy  ended  by  spending  most  of  her  time  in  the 
kitchen.  She  developed  an  inordinate  curiosity  in 
regard  to  batters  and  crusts.  She  adored  mixtures, 
concocting  a  few  feverish  ones  herself.  She  broke 
dishes  and  burnt  herself  and  dropped  bits  of  butter 
on  the  floor.  However,  she  was  genuinely  im- 
pressed with  herself  in  her  new  domestic  role  and 
began  to  dress  to  suit  the  part,  imitating  all  un- 
consciously the  low-down  Irishwoman.  She  began 
to  twist  her  hair,  as  Mary  did,  into  a  tight  knot 


138  GIBBETED  GODS 

that  sat  at  a  most  abandoned  angle  on  the  top  of  her 
head.  She  gave  up  rouge  and  powder  and  wore  a 
black  shawl  about  her  shoulders.  She  declared 
finally  that  she  intended  to  go  in  exclusively  for 
those  fascinating  mother-hubbards  that  made  Mary 
look  so  chic.  But  Charlotte  intervened  at  this  point, 
sternly  prohibitive. 

Then  Paddy  had  a  higher  vision  of  a  more  general 
efficiency.  House-cleaning!  There  lay  an  oppor- 
tunity, indeed,  in  the  particular  realization  of  which 
the  making  of  sauces  lost  something  of  its  original 
savor.  Paddy  donned  a  new,  atrocious  kind  of  cap 
and  apron  and  the  game  was  on.  She  could  be  seen 
at  any  hour  pursuing  a  dust-pan  as  it  rattled  down 
the  steps,  or  brandishing  a  duster  with  fine  disregard 
of  her  own  frenzied  sneezes.  To  see  Charlotte  and 
Hendy  settle  quietly  to  their  books  for  an  evening's 
reading  was  the  unmistakable  signal  for  Paddy  to 
feel  the  stir  of  her  new  passion.  She  would  look  up 
and  down  the  long  room,  shake  her  head  in  disap- 
proval, and  mutter  ominously.  Then  one  nervous 
spring,  and  the  evening's  quiet  was  at  an  end.  Piles 
of  newspapers,  magazines,  books,  ash-trays  were 
tumbled  from  one  table  to  another.  Desk  drawers 
were  pulled  out  with  a  tussle  of  resistance  and  a  re- 
coil like  the  kick  of  a  gun.  Their  contents  were 
emptied  over  everything,  "to  be  sorted  out 
later."  Charlotte  and  Hendy  would  say  nothing 


GIBBETED  GODS  139 

until  their  own  chairs  were  demanded  for 
some  reason  or  other,  or  until  Paddy  had 
to  be  rescued  from  some  new  height  she  had 
essayed  in  the  pursuit  of  a  fleck  of  dust.  Even- 
tually they  were  driven  to  their  own  rooms.  But 
Paddy,  driven  on  by  her  demon,  would  work  and 
chuckle  and  upset  until  far  into  the  night.  It 
would  fall  upon  the  faithful  Mary  in  the  morning 
to  work  a  little  order  out  of  the  nocturnal  chaos. 

Charlotte  saw  Paddy's  pranks  as  deliberately 
planned  with  the  purpose  of  tormenting  her,  so 
disregarded  them  completely  for  the  most  part. 
It  annoyed  her  extremely  that  Hendy  was  not  able 
to  assume  a  like  indifference.  His  obvious  unhappi- 
ness  at  each  turn  of  Paddy's  perversity  seemed  to 
Charlotte  but  another  indication  of  his  fundamental 
weakness  of  character.  She  was  coldly  impatient, 
in  an  arrogant  way,  of  his  lack  of  self-control,  his 
inability  to  exercise  the  power  of  will  in  keeping  up 
appearances.  So,  too,  she  was  intolerant  of  his  fail- 
ures when  he  ventured  into  the  field  of  the  practical. 

The  doughty  Mary  had  found  the  care  of  the 
furnace  too  taxing  for  her  strength,  so  Hendy  had 
taken  over  the  responsibility.  But  drafts  and 
'dampers  proved  of  an  intricacy  that  Hendy,  un- 
tutored even  in  the  rudiments  of  heating  lore,  was 
utterly  unable  to  grasp.  He  was  always  in  a  fever- 
ish state  of  discovering  that  the  fire  was  either 


140  GIBBETED  GODS 

completely  out  or  else  so  far  gone  there  wasn't  a 
chance  of  resuscitation. 

Flagrant  incompetence! — so  Charlotte  set  it 
down.  She  met  Hendy's  murmured  excuses  with 
sharpness.  Eventually,  with  a  fine  disregard  of  his 
protests,  she  decided  to  look  out  for  the  furnace  her- 
self. The  result  was  everything  that  could  be  asked 
of  neat  regulation.  Hendy  withdrew  more  and 
more  into  himself  after  that. 

It  was  a  long,  bitter  winter  that  stretched  an  in- 
tolerable length.  Snow  weighed  down  the  trees  and 
blocked  the  roads,  its  softness  and  beauty  in  the  re- 
lentless grip  of  the  cold  disfigured  into  a  harsh  and 
jagged  thing  of  ice.  Charlotte  walked  miles,  de- 
spite the  severity  of  the  weather,  or  else  shoveled 
paths  to  show  Hendy  it  could  be  done  without  too 
much  fatigue.  It  was  bleak  enough  outside,  Heaven 
knows,  but  it  was  preferable  to  the  cheerlessness 
within.  For  there  was  something  about  the  old  house 
with  its  leaking  roof,  its  loose  shutters  that  banged 
with  dismal  regularity,  its  vistas  of  chill  empty 
rooms,  once  so  cozy  and  charming  and  gay,  that 
depressed  Charlotte  to  the  point  of  miserable  despair. 
Even  the  solace  of  her  studio  was  denied  her,  as  the 
wind  blowing  through  the  big  north  skylight  was 
impossible  to  combat.  She  had  brought  her  easel 
down  to  the  living-room,  but  it  had  proved  to  have 
one  too  many  legs  for  Paddy  successfully  to  avoid. 


GIBBETED  GODS  141 

So  she  had  taken  it  back  upstairs  and  given  up  her 
painting. 

At  intervals  Paddy,  noting  possibly  the  low  ebb  of 
spirits  in  those  about  her,  would  announce  mischie- 
vously that  she  had  had  a  "tip  from  the  Almighty" 
and  knew  something  nice  was  going  to  happen. 
Charlotte  came  to  realize  eventually  these  tips  were 
synchronous  with  the  writing  of  certain  letters  which 
Paddy  concocted  with  much  labored  secrecy.  Pa- 
thetic appeals  to  remote  Warrens  and  Bairds!  It 
did  n't  require  much  penetration  on  Charlotte's  part 
to  guess  that.  She  attacked  Paddy  bitterly,  made 
her  case  on  the  grounds  of  pride.  Paddy  was  duly 
contrite,  had  n't  thought  of  it  in  that  light  at  all,  and 
agreed  with  the  proper  solemnity  to  do  nothing, 
nothing  whatever  in  future  without  consulting 
Charlotte.  A  week  or  so  later,  with  apparently  no 
sense  of  the  incongruous,  Paddy  would  read  out  a 
letter  from  an  irate  great-uncle  or  a  sententious  great- 
er-aunt in  answer  to  some  new  importunity  for 
money.  A  letter  came  from  Philip  from  Yokohama. 
He  was  on  his  way  around  the  world  with  Cassimer 
and  some  other  friends.  He  refused  point-blank  to 
hurt  his  own  interests  by  borrowing  for  Paddy. 
Strange  to  say,  this  wrung  from  Paddy  the  most  in- 
tense admiration. 

"He  '11  never  let  sentiment  interfere  with  his 
interests,"  quoth  she,  and  turned  her  back  on  Char- 


142  GIBBETED  GODS 

lotte's  bitter  protest  against  the  whole  miserable 
business. 

RepeateH  invitations  came  from  Dolly  to  join 
them  in  Palm  Beach,  in  Havana,  in  the  Indies,  but 
Charlotte  would  not  hear  of  leaving  Newport. 
Paddy's  discomfiture  at  each  abrupt  refusal  showed 
that  in  some  way  she  had  planned  to  make  capital  of 
Dolly's  friendship,  too.  Poor  Charlotte ! 

Occasionally,  despite  the  cold,  Charlotte  would 
climb  to  her  studio  of  an  afternoon  and  try  to  think. 
But  the  place  had  taken  on  an  unfamiliar  look  in  its 
disuse.  There  was  dust,  dust  everywhere,  on  the 
books,  the  table,  the  chairs,  her  easel.  The  un- 
finished canvases  in  the  fading  light  appeared  the 
strange  creations  of  another's  hand.  Weird  and 
gruesome  they  seemed.  As  her  wondering  eyes 
rested  upon  them,  she  had  the  startled  illusion  of  so 
many  personalities  struggling  tragically  for  the  ex- 
pression of  themselves  out  of  an  inexorable  blackness. 
This  illusion  haunted  her  perpetually,  the  reproach 
in  those  half-formed  faces,  upturned  to  her  in  wistful 
appeal.  But  she  was  powerless  to  help  them,  as  she 
was  powerless  to  help  herself.  She,  too,  was  caught 
in  a  blackness  from  which  there  seemed  no  escape, 
the  blackness  of  a  hardly  tempered  unforgiveness. 

So  the  dull  round  of  the  lagging  weeks  that  made 
up  that  harsh  and  unlovely  winter  passed  and  spring 
came.  Hendy  talked  of  his  crocus  bulbs.  Paddy 


GIBBETED  GODS  143 

sat  on  the  terrace  in  a  shawl  and  jaunty  yacntmg-cap 
and  gossiped  about  Mother  Nature  while  Hendy  did 
the  digging.  Charlotte  sat  on  the  veranda  outside 
her  own  room  and  tried  to  read.  But  her  eyes  were 
drawn  continually  to  those  two  down  there  in  the 
garden  and  there  was  a  dull  wonder  in  her  heart. 

Then  one  day  Hendy  failed  to  come  down  to 
lunch.  He  had  over-tired  himself  digging. 

"He'll  be  all  right  to-morrow,"  Paddy  predicted 
brightly. 

"A  bad  cold!"  was  the  report  next  day.  Char- 
lotte thought  nothing  of  it.  She  took  her  easel  to 
the  clirls  the  following  morning  and  painted  till  late 
afternoon.  The  ocean  rested,  strangely  quiet  and 
peaceful,  under  the  soft  purple  haze  that  hovered 
above  it.  The  air  was  warm,  inviting  gentle 
relaxation.  A  few  gulls  circled  quietly  in  the 
heavens;  others  floated  on  the  water  like  scattered 
magnolia  blossoms.  Charlotte  lingered,  to  court  a 
little  the  spell  of  the  season's  content.  Then  at 
dusk  she  started  home. 

Paddy  met  her  at  the  door,  confused,  excited, 
incoherent.  Hendy  was  ill,  very  ill.  And  there 
was  the  doctor,  explaining  something  to  somebody; 
and  at  a  distance,  ghostly,  unsubstantial,  hovered 
a  white-clad  figure  that  kept  nodding  and  beckoning. 

"Pneumonia!" 

The  word  cut  into  Charlotte's  consciousness  like 


144  GIBBETED  GODS 

a  knife.  She  put  her  hand  on  her  heart  and  stared 
at  the  doctor  with  wide,  terrified  eyes. 

"Pneumonia!"  He  said  it  again  gently,  as  she 
did  not  seem  to  understand.  He  put  out  his  hand 
to  her  as  she  tottered,  but  she  caught  herself  up  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  trembling  hands.  A  long- 
drawn  sob  shivered  up  from  the  depths  of  her  being. 
Then  she  turned  and,  clinging  to  the  balustrade, 
made  her  way,  weeping  and  stumbling,  up  the  stairs. 
Hendy!  Hendy  was  ill!  A  terrible  remorse,  a 
more  terrible  fear,  and  the  overwhelming  tenderness 
of  a  great  yearning !  Hendy !  All  the  discords  and 
defiances  that  had  blurred  the  brightness  of  their  love 
fell  away;  he  was  there  for  her  now  as  he  always  had 
been,  the  same  dear  Hendy  who  had  guided  her 
through  the  years  in  the  unselfishness  of  a  great 
love,  in  the  understanding  of  a  perfect  sympathy. 
Hendy !  Hendy !  She  cried  it  out  in  the  surge  of 
her  emotions  as  she  staggered  to  his  door.  Another 
white-clad  figure  confronted  her.  She  tried  to  check 
her  sobs,  but  they  burst  out  in  spite  of  her.  Then 
the  faint  sound  of  her  name  came  from  within  the 
room  and  she  had  broken  by  the  white  sentinel  and 
was  on  her  knees  at  the  bedside. 

"Hendy,  Hendy  darling!"  was  all  she  could  cry. 
Her  voice  choked.  She  seized  his  hand  in  both  of 
hers  and  fondled  it.  "Hendy,  Hendy  dear,"  she 
sobbed,  and  bent  her  wet  face  to  his.  She  could  see 


GIBBETED  GODS  145 

him  now  through  her  tears,  the  light  of  joy  in  his  eyes 
that  were  yet  heavy  with  a  bewildered  pain. 
"Mignon!"  he  murmured.     "Mignon!" 
Charlotte's  tears  continued  to  fall,  but  in  the 
pressure  of  his  dear  hand  that  established  once  more 
the  old  current  of  their  sympathy  she  found  a  little 
relief  from  the  bitterness  of  her  self-reproach. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THEY  let  her  stay  with  him  until  the  end, 
which  came  three  days  later,  in  the  early 
evening.  Hendy  did  not  want  to  die  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  showed  the  capability  of  power- 
ful resistance.  He  fought  and  Charlotte  fought 
with  him.  At  times  she  would  soothe  his  suffering, 
quietly,  gently,  murmuring  tender  endearments, 
stroking  the  hand  that  was  forever  groping  for  hers. 
And  again  when,  worn  out  with  pain,  he  seemed  to  be 
sinking,  it  was  the  passion  of  her  grief  that  pen- 
etrated the  gathering  twilight  of  his  fading  conscious- 
ness and  roused  him  to  fresh  struggle. 

At  times  Paddy  was  there  by  the  bedside,  staring 
wild-eyed,  but  she  seemed  no  more  real  to  Charlotte 
than  the  other  phantoms  of  that  sick-room. 

There  came  a  time  when  the  doctor  pronounced 
it  a  matter  of  hours.  Charlotte  threw  herself  on  her 
knees  beside  the  bed  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands 
to  choke  back  the  shivering  sobs.  There  was,  per- 
haps, a  new  quality  of  despair  in  her  weeping,  for 
Hendy  seemed  suddenly  to  understand.  He  reached 
for  her  hand  once  more;  a  few  tears  forced  them- 
selves from  under  his  closed  lids  an'd  trickled  down 

146 


GIBBETED  GODS  147 

his  cheeks.  A  few  minutes  later  a  calm  came  over 
him.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  there  was  a  sudden 
brightness  in  them.  His  lips  moved.  Charlotte 
was  bending  over  him. 

"What  is  it,  dearest1?"  she  murmured. 

A  smile  of  sweetness  lighted  up  his  face. 

"Paddy!"  he  said  faintly. 

"Paddy!"  Charlotte's  own  eyes  brightened  as 
she  understood.  He  was  entrusting  Paddy  to  her — ' 
poor,  perverse,  erring  Paddy — and  everything  fine 
and  generous  within  her  responded  to  the  sacredness 
of  that  trust. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "Yes";  then  added  in  a 
low  voice,  "always." 

He  smiled  at  her  again,  a  luminous  smile  of 
tenderness  and  gratitude.  Then  his  eyes  closed. 

A  little  later,  with  the  relaxation  of  his  hand, 
Charlotte  knew  the  end  had  come.  She  rose, 
trembling,  seeking  a  quiet  resignation  in  the  con- 
templation of  Hendy's  peace.  But  there  came  to 
her,  as  she  gazed  intently  at  the  dear  features  so 
strangely  still,  only  the  terrible,  tragic  sense  of  her 
loss.  She  turned  and,  bursting  into  harsh,  uncontrol- 
lable cries,  she  rushed  from  the  room. 

Charlotte  awakened  that  night  to  the  patter  of 
the  rain  on  the  big  elm  outside  her  window.  One  of 
the  nurses  had  undressed  her  and  put  her  to  bed, 


148  GIBBETED  GODS 

administering  a  sleeping  potion  of  immediate  effect, 
but  Charlotte  remembered  nothing  of  this.  There 
was  no  bewilderment,  however,  in  her  awakening, 
no  rush  of  tragic  recollection.  She  awoke  simply 
and.  quietly  to  the  fact  that  Hendy  was  dead.  A 
few  tears  welled  to  her  eyes ;  that  was  all.  She  had 
no  sense  of  anything  that  had  happened  from  the 
time  Hendy's  hand  had  loosened  its  clasp  of  hers  un- 
til now,  this  moment  of  deep  quiet,  this  moment  of 
resignation.  In  reality,  Charlotte's  calm  had  its 
root  in  utter  physical  fatigue  and  emotional  ex- 
haustion. She  would  feel  again  and  often  the  sweep 
of  passionate  revolt,  the  terrible  grief  of  her  loss,  but 
she  did  not  know  that  now.  She  read  in  the  deep 
stillness  of  the  night — a  stillness  that  seemed  the 
more  intense  for  that  gentle  patter  of  the  rain  in  the 
trees — the  boon  of  a  strange  resignation.  It  was 
somehow  as  Hendy  would  have  wanted  it  to  be. 
Hendy  was  dead.  Hendy!  She  whispere'd  the 
name  softly  to  herself.  Then  with  a  sudden  yearn- 
ing to  see  him  again  she  rose,  and,  throwing  a  robe 
about  her  shoulders,  she  went  to  his  room.  A  sob 
rose  in  her  throat  as  she  opened  the  door.  The  room 
was  lighted  dimly.  He  was  lying  on  the  bed,  his 
thin  long  body  attenuated  by  the  folds  of  the  sheet, 
his  fine  drawn  face  of  plastic  beauty.  A  few  of  his 
own  early  daffodils  were  on  the  table  by  his  side. 
Charlotte's  rising  emotion  was  quelled.  She  knelt 


GIBBETED  GODS  149 

Sown  by  the  bed  and  closed  her  eyes.  She  was  in 
the  presence  of  Death,  that  incalculable,  baffling 
factor  of  life,  and  she  was  singularly  unafraid.  As 
she  knelt  there,  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  back  in  old 
Trinity  again,  in  the  mellow  light  of  the  fading  day. 
She  could  see  the  face  of  the  Christ  in  the  window, 
strangely  real,  strangely  tender. 

"I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life." 

Before  that  poignant  message  of  forgiveness  she 
saw  the  arrogance  of  her  own  attitude  of  hard  relent- 
lessness.  She  had  set  herself  up  as  a  tribunal  of 
righteousness  and  she  had  condemned  insolently. 
Poor  Hendy!  Sin  and  weakness  were  forgotten  in 
the  silent  hush  of  this  room  of  death ;  only  love,  the 
love  of  understanding,  remained. 

Charlotte  knelt  there  a  long,  long  time.  Then  she 
rose  and  once  more  let  her  eyes  rest  lovingly  on 
Hendy's  face.  And  it  seemed  to  her  as  she  stood 
there  as  if  the  whole  scroll  of  Hendy's  life  were 
slowly  unrolled,  before  her  eyes.  She  saw  him 
eager,  vivid,  in  the  supreme  confidence  of  youth; 
she  saw  him,  weak  and  broken,  surrendered  to  a 
passion  that  was  all  a  great  love  and  a  terrible  doubt. 
Did  Paddy  care1?  And  he  had  sought  refuge  from 
that  doubt  in  his  devotion  to  her,  to  Charlotte,  his 
child.  Yes,  she  was  Hendy's  child.  She  knew 
that  now,  and  her  thoughts  were  strangely  of 
Florence  and  the  cypress-trees. 


150  GIBBETED  GODS 

"I  lived  here  two  years  before  you  were  born." 
Paddy's  words,  fraught  with  a  deep  significance, 
came  back  across  the  echoing  years. 

Then  there  came  to  Charlotte  a  sharp  pang. 
Paddy!  She  seemed  to  see  the  word  hovering  on 
Hendy^s  still  lips.  Paddy!  She  had  not  seen 
Paddy.  Absorbed  in  her  own  sorrow,  she  had  for- 
gotten Paddy.  It  seemed  the  wilful  betrayal 
of  a  sacred  trust.  A  sudden  accession  of  tenderness 
came  to  her.  Poor  Paddy!  she  must  go  to  her  in 
her  grief. 

She  took  one  jonquil  from  the  vase  and  laid  it  on 
Hendy's  breast.  Then  she  bent  down  and  kissed 
his  forehead.  The  shiver  of  the  cold  contact  started 
her  tears  afresh.  She  sobbed  softly  for  a  minute; 
then,  with  a  forced  calm,  she  started  for  Paddy's 
room.  The  light  under  the  door  revealed  that 
Paddy,  too,  had  be"en  keeping  the  night's  vigil. 
Again  that  quick  accession  of  a  protective  tenderness ! 
Charlotte  knocked  softly.  There  was  no  answer, 
but,  as  the  door  was  ajar,  she  pushed  it  open.  She 
was  conscious,  first  of  all,  of  a  bright  glare  that 
dazzled  her.  Every  light  in  the  place  was  lighted. 
She  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand  and  came  into  the 
room,  which  struck  her  at  once  as  close  and  in- 
tolerably hot.  Paddy  was  lying,  fully  dressed,  on 
a  divan  directly  under  the  central  glare  of  lights. 
A  sheet  of  newspaper  was  thrown  over  her  head. 


GIBBETED  GODS  151 

She  was  evidently  asleep.  Charlotte  went  over  to 
her  softly.  Paddy  stirred,  and  the  newspaper 
rustled  to  the  floor.  A  queer  contorted  smile 
twisted  Paddy's  lips ;  then  she  slowly  opened  her  eyes 
to  Charlotte's.  There  was  in  their  wide  dilation 
an  expression  that  was  essentially  malignant,  subtle, 
evil,  low — an  expression  that  blurred  gradually  to  a 
wicked  delight  as  she  read  in  Charlotte's  eyes  the 
slow  birth  of  a  tragic  comprehension.  Paddy  roused 
herself  and  with  a  vague  heavy  gesture  pointed  to  a 
small  table  close  by.  In  the  confusion  of  litter  upon 
it,  Charlotte's  horrified  gaze  made  out  only  the 
pointed  glitter  of  a  hypodermic  needle.  White, 
gasping,  terrified,  she  turned,  and,  to  the  shrill  rise 
of  Paddy's  mocking  laugh,  she  fled  out  of  the  room. 


PART  IV 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IT  was  the  day  before  Christmas.  Charlotte  had 
put  the  last  festive  touch  to  the  little  studio  and 
then  sat  down  to  contemplate  her  work.  The  place 
was  rather  jolly,  with  its  green  wreaths  in  the 
windows  and  bright  splashes  of  holly  here  and  there. 
Charlotte  looked  at  the  clock;  it  was  just  three. 
Paddy's  train  was  due  at  four.  She  went  into  the 
diminutive  kitchenette;  yes,  the  chicken  was  still 
there,  and  the  celery,  and  cranberry  jelly. 

It  was  surprising,  really,  how  happy  she  felt, 
happy  in  a  subdued,  sad  sort  of  way  of  course,  but 
still  happy.  This  place,  although  she  had  been  in  it 
only  a  week,  had  already  the  comfortable  quality 
of  home,  her  home;  for  it  was  her  money  that  was 
paying  for  it.  She  took  a  piece  of  paper  and  pencil 
and  began  to  figure.  Fifty  a  month  for  rent;  three 
hundred  and  fifty  she  had  paid  outright  to  the  former 
tenant  for  the  furniture;  that  left — Charlotte  had 
gone  through  this  calculation  twenty  times  before, 
but  she  brought  to  it  each  time  the  same  bright 

155 


156  GIBBETED  GODS 

energy.  It  gave  her  more  completely  than  anything 
else  the  sense  of  herself  in  her  new  role.  Divide  that 
by  three  and  there  you  are!  Charlotte  was  be- 
ginning to  add  and  subtract  quite  nonchalantly 
now.  Arithmetic  had  never  been  her  strong  point, 
for  Paddy  had  considered  training  along  those  lines 
unnecessary  and  absurd. 

"You  '11  always  be  able  to  pay  some  one  to  do  it 
for  you,"  she  had  reasoned. 

Charlotte  smiled  at  this  recollection.  And  here 
she  was  in  entire  charge  of  the  family  finance !  Her 
thoughts  reverted  with  tenderness  to  Hendy.  He 
had  left  all  his  money,  to  the  amount  of  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars,  to  her  in  trust.  Paddy  had  resented 
hotly  that  trust  clause,  but  Charlotte  was  very,  very 
thankful  for  it.  Whatever  happened,  that  money 
was  there,  safely  and  securely  there,  in  investments 
of  so  conservative  a  nature  that  they  were  good  for 
all  time.  Two  thousand  a  year !  It  was  as  if  Hendy 
had  hung  a  protecting  veil  between  her  and  the 
harsh  world  of  necessity.  Poor  dear  Hendy! 
Charlotte  wondered  as  she  looked  about  the  studio 
whether  Hendy  could  have  adjusted  himself  to 
the  conditions  under  which  they  were  now  forced 
to  live.  Hendy  had  not  been  meant  for  vulgar 
contacts.  As  to  Paddy,  she  could  already  hear 
her  voluble  enthusiasms  directed  indiscriminately  at 
skylight,  alcove  bedroom,  tumble-down  furniture, 


GIBBETED  GODS  157 

and  all.  Even  the  district — Macdougal  Street 
below  the  Square — Paddy  was  sure  to  pronounce 
as  "fascinating."  And  she,  Charlotte,  would  find 
her  happiness  in  Paddy's. 

Charlotte  looked  at  the  clock  again  and  began  to 
worry  as  to  whether  or  not  she  should  have  allowed 
Paddy  to  come  from  Newport  alone.  Paddy  was 
still  not  strong.  But  it  had  seemed  the  wisest  course 
to  leave  her  in  Newport  with  the  faithful  Mary 
until  Charlotte  had  secured  the  haven  of  a  new  home 
in  New  York.  The  house  in  Newport  had  been  sold 
in  August,  but  the  people  who  had  bought  it  had 
kindly  suffered  them  to  remain  till  the  New  Year. 
In  August  Paddy  was  still  too  ill  to  be  moved. 

As  Charlotte  looked  back  at  the  tragedy  of  that 
illness,  the  details  of  it  seemed  utterly  incredible. 
It  was  as  a  fearful  nightmare  and  she,  herself,  was 
the  grimmest  specter.  Again  she  had  set  herself 
up  as  a  tribunal  of  justice.  But  this  time  her 
arrogance,  full-blown,  had  not  been  content  with  the 
simple  act  of  condemnation;  it  had  gone  on  to  the 
rash  control  of  another's  will,  another's  destiny. 
Yes,  it  all  seemed  incredible  now,  as  she  sat  there 
waiting  for  Paddy  in  the  little  holly-decorated 
studio  that  was  to  be  their  home.  Yet,  only  a  few 
months  ago  it  had  happened,  really! 

Charlotte  had  been  the  only  one  to  follow  Hendy 
to  his  grave,  as  Paddy  was  still  in  a  state  of  coma 


158  GIBBETED  GODS 

the  day  of  the  funeral.  The  tenderness  and  peace 
that  should  have  been  Charlotte's  on  that  bright 
spring  morning  as  she  stood  by  Hendy's  grave  were 
lost  utterly  in  the  sense  of  her  new  horror,  that  was 
taking  on  gradually  the  grimness  of  a  great  resolve. 

That  afternoon  Charlotte  had  given  Mary  a  two- 
weeks'  vacation.  Then  she  had  gone  to  Paddy's 
room.  She  did  not  look  at  Paddy,  although  she 
was  sharply  conscious  of  her  in  her  sluggish  torpor. 
She  systematically  went  about  what  she  had  to  do. 
She  swept  off  the  litter  of  bottles  from  the  table, 
the  glittering  hypodermic  needle.  She  searched 
every  drawer  in  the  place,  the  closet,  the  bath-room, 
removing  every  bottle  that  she  found.  Then  she 
went  out  and  locked  the  door. 

The  details  of  that  week  of  conflict  were  grim  and 
ghastly.  Charlotte  had  no  idea  of  the  thing  she 
was  doing.  Drugs  to  her  meant  indulgence,  and 
indulgence  should  be  curbed.  So — bitter,  cruel, 
determined — she  persisted.  Three  times  a  day  she 
took  a  tray  of  food  to  Paddy's  room  and  returned 
an  hour  later  to  take  it  away.  That  was  all. 

Poor  Paddy !  At  first  she  had  been  only  incredu- 
lous, thinking  the  matter  a  joke.  Then  reading 
the  truth  in  Charlotte's  unflinching  gaze,  she  had 
assumed  a  gay  bravado,  a  flippant  defiance,  which 
broke  in  a  few  hours,  under  the  importunities  of  her 
craving,  to  a  whimper  of  pleading.  She  had  paced 


GIBBETED  GODS  159 

the  floor  the  whole  of  that  first  night,  crying  out, 
arguing,  begging.  Charlotte  was  in  the  next  room, 
close-lipped,  sleepless.  In  the  morning  when  she 
went  to  Paddy  with  her  breakfast-tray  she  read  the 
suffering  in  the  glinting,  mocking  eyes  as  only  a  part 
of  Paddy's  wily  trickery.  Paddy  refused  to  eat;  that, 
too,  was  a  part  of  her  game.  The  terrible  nausea, 
the  dizziness,  the  sinking  weakness — what  else  could 
she  expect  in  her  obstinate  refusal  of  food*?  So 
Charlotte  remained  obdurate,  hardly  determined 
through  a  succession  of  days  and  nights  when  Paddy's 
screams  rose  to  a  greater  and  greater  frenzy  of 
tortured  agony.  Then  she  found  her  one  day  in  a 
convulsive  fit  on  the  floor,  beating  her  head  against 
the  wall.  Her  face  was  cut.  Yet,  as  Charlotte  bent 
over  her  and,  sobbing,  cried'  out  her  terror,  there  was 
in  Paddy's  eyes  a  certain  wicked  gleam  of  triumph. 
A  second  later,  in  a  last  spasm  of  excruciating  pain, 
Paddy  lost  consciousness. 

Yes,  it  was  utterly  incredible  now.  She  had 
nearly  killed  Paddy.  The  doctor  had  been  kind,  but 
he  did  not  mince  matters  A  month  later,  when  the 
actual  danger  for  Paddy  was  over,  and  Charlotte 
was  able  to  recover  a  little  her  hold  on  herself,  the 
doctor  made  a  point  of  telling  her  much  in  regard  to 
the  nature  of  her  mother's  disease.  The  absolute 
blunting  of  the  moral  sense,  utter  disregard  of  time 
and  circumstance,  plausibility,  disorderliness — she 


160  GIBBETED  GODS 

saw  it  all  quite  clearly  now,  and  was  glad  that  she 
did,  for  she  wanted  understanding.  Paddy's  per- 
versities, that  she  had  hitherto  attributed  to  wilful- 
ness,  she  saw  now  were  the  inevitable  symptoms  of 
her  disorder.  She  realized  with  sadness  the  intensity 
of  Hendy's  sufferings  as  he  had  watched  the  growth 
of  that  disorder  with  the  years. 

Charlotte  had  asked  the  doctor  in  regard  to  a  cure 
In  a  sanatorium,  but  he  had  shaken  his  head. 

"A  matter  of  several  years  in  this  case,"  he  pro- 
nounced, "with  a  probable  relapse  afterwards! 
No,  I  'd  let  her  go.  Make  her  happy;  that 's  all  you 
can  do,"  he  added  kindly. 

He  read  the  fearful  questioning  in  her  eyes  and 
took  her  hand. 

"You  will  have  years  and  years  together,"  he 
assured  her.  "It  is  surprising  how  they  do  endure. 
She  is  broken,  that  is  all." 

Poor  Paddy!  Yes,  she  was  broken,  but  the 
baleful  struggle  of  that  week  was,  strangely  enough, 
not  wholly  unavailing.  Charlotte  came  to  realize 
that  summer  an  indefinable  change  in  Paddy's 
attitude  toward  her.  In  the  terrible  conflict  of  their 
wills,  Charlotte  had  for  the  first  time  compelled 
Paddy's  respect.  Henceforth,  she  was  to  exist  for 
Paddy  as  a  personality  to  be  reckoned  with.  Paddy 
could  tease,  trick,  torment,  but  back  of  it  all  was  the 
recognition  of  Charlotte  as  a  power.  Perhaps,  of 


GIBBETED  GODS  161 

her  agony  there  had  been  born  in  Paddy's  breast  a 
little  of  affection,  too.  Charlotte  often  wondeed 
vaguely  as  to  that,  but  did  not  know. 

Then,  too,  Paddy's  illness  was  to  work  out  to  an 
illumination  of  other  things  that  had  troubled 
Charlotte  sorely  since  Hendy's  death.  Paddy  had 
been  fitfully  delirious  for  weeks,  and  in  her  delirium 
betrayed  herself.  It  was  of  Hendy  she  talked, 
always  Hendy,  and  their  love.  She  called  for  him ; 
then,  with  a  glimmer  of  realization,  she  would  begin 
to  sob  and  cry  piteously.  She  moaned  in  her  sleep 
and  whimpered  softly  when  she  awoke,  and  always 
she  talked  of  Florence  and  the  cypress-trees.  But 
the  memories  of  her  early  days  blurred  strangely  with 
later  memories, — unhappy,  confused  memories. 
Charlotte  heard  her  own  name  again  and  again. 
Then  she  began  to  understand.  Paddy  had  been 
jealous  of  her,  jealous  of  Hendy's  devotion.  Stupe- 
fied, she  listened.  Yes,  she  could  see  many  things 
with  startling  clearness  now.  That  dogged  per- 
sistent antagonism  she  had  sensed,  even  as  a  child, 
behind  the  veil  of  Paddy's  flippancy  had  had  its  root 
in  the  jealousy  of  a  great  love.  The  years  that  had 
been  so  beautiful  to  Charlotte,  when  she  and  Hendy 
had  wandered  in  tender  intimacy  through  the  streets 
of  Florence,  had  been  years  of  poignant  tragedy  to 
poor  Paddy. 

The  immediate  resumption  of  Paddy's  old  gaiety 


162  GIBBETED  GODS 

upon  emerging  from  her  fever  made  Charlotte  the 
more  tender  of  the  secrets  disclosed,  the  more  tender 
of  Paddy  herself.  But  Paddy  must  never  know  her 
delirium  had  betrayed  her. 

As  Paddy  was  sitting  up  in  bed  one  day,  a 
jaunty  bandage  on  her  head  and  a  cigarette  in  her 
mouth,  she  had  showed  herself  curious,  perhaps  even 
a  little  uneasy,  as  to  the  nature  of  her  ravings.  It 
was  for  Charlotte  in  all  charity  to  put  her  at  her  ease. 

"Did  I,"  she  queried,  narrowing  her  eyes  and 
nodding  her  head,  "get  sentimental?  People  do,  you 
know." 

Charlotte  smiled.  "Sentimental  is  hardly  the 
word,"  she  answered.  "Ribald  is  better,  I  should 
say." 

This  delighted  Paddy  inordinately.  She  had 
been  running  true  to  form  even  in  the  valley  of  the 
shadow.  She  chuckled  to  herself. 

Then,  "How  did  old  prosy  take  it1?"  she  asked, 
indicating  the  nurse  in  the  next  room. 

"Oh,  I  sent  her  out  before  it  got  too  bad,"  laughed 
Charlotte. 

"A   sound   of   ribaldry  by  night,"    said  Paddy. 

Poor  perverse,  tragic  Paddy ! 

So  Charlotte  reviewed  in  her  mind  the  scenes  of 
that  summer,  as  she  sat  and  waited  for  Paddy.  She 
arose  at  last  with  a  sigh  and  looked  about.  Yes, 


GIBBETED  GODS  163 

everytning  was  ready.  Some  good  cigarettes  for 
Paddy !  Paddy  had  sunk  to  Sweet  Caporals  during 
her  convalescence.  Charlotte  straightened  a  piece 
of  holly  over  the  mantel  and  then  went  to  take 
another  look  at  the  chicken.  She  hadn't  the  remotest 
idea  how  to  cook  a  chicken  herself.  But,  of  course, 
Paddy — Paddy  was  of  a  temerity  that  would  have 
attempted  with  the  blithest  confidence  the  broiling  of 
a  live  ostrich. 

The  bell  rang.  Charlotte  slammed  the  ice-chest 
door,  touched  the  bell-click,  put  a  match  to  the  care- 
fully laid  fire,  and  in  a  high  state  of  excitement 
rushed  out  into  the  hall.  Just  in  time  to  catch  the 
boxes  and  bundles  hurtled  at  her,  as  Paddy  stubbed 
her  toe  on  the  top  step!  Panting,  chattering, 
gasping,  Paddy  had  related  a  dozen  indiscriminate 
anecdotes  before  Charlotte  got  her  into  the  room. 
Somebody  was  a  "regular  oaf"  and  somebody  else  a 
"gentleman  of  the  old  school."  And  she  did  n't 
have  any  change  and  had  to  give  the  taxi-man  a 
dollar  tip  and — 

Once  on  the  threshold  of  her  new  demesne,  how- 
ever, everything  broke  to  an  ecstasy  of  extravagant 
praise. 

A  grotesque,  pathetic,  yet  amusing  little  figure 
Paddy  was  as  she  stood  there  with  the  fire-light 
playing  over  her.  She  had  on  a  new  coat,  a  big 


164  GIBBETED  GODS 

cumbersome  thing  like  a  man's  overcoat,  which  made 
her  look  the  more  shrunken  and  diminutive.  Her 
face  was  sallow,  the  big  scar  on  her  temple  and  cheek 
a  livid  contrast.  Her  lower  lip  trembled;  her  hands 
were  unsteady ;  but  one  lost  all  sense  of  her  weakness 
in  the  bright  darting  energy  of  her  eyes,  in  the  shrill 
lilt  of  her  voice.  She  had  taken  off  her  hat  and 
kicked  it  into  a  corner  as  she  ran  her  fingers  through 
her  wispy  hair.  Then,  almost  sacramentally,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  doff  the  coat.  This  coat  was  Paddy's  first 
economy,  eleven  dollars  she  had  paid  for  it ;  Charlotte 
forced  herself  to  a  faint  approval,  which  was  lost  in 
Paddy's  own  babbling  delight  of  possession. 

Then  Paddy's  keen  eyes  discerned  an  artificial 
poinsettia  on  the  mantel,  a  flamboyant  velvet  thing. 
"A  mongrel  touch!"  she  cried  and,  seizing  it,  threw 
it  into  the  fire. 

Speaking  of  mongrels — ah,  Mary!  Paddy  was 
off  with  a  chuckle.  Mary  had  been  a  patroness  at  an 
"ash-man's  ball."  Details  were  in  order.  What 
Paddy  failed  to  impart,  however,  was  that,  really 
impressed  by  Mary  in  this  new  light  of  the  social 
dilettante,  she  had  passed  over  to  her  much  of  her 
own  finery  from  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  She  had  to 
admit  to  a  few  little  trifles  she  had  given  her  "to 
drape  her  dear  old  fat  self  in,"  but  that  was  all;  the 
extent  of  her  generosity  Charlotte  was  to  discover 
only  with  time. 


GIBBETED  GODS  165 

Mary  had  sent  many  tender  messages  to  Charlotte. 
Oh,  and  a  cake,  a  noble  cake !  The  wicker  suit-case, 
Paddy's  second  economy,  now  claimed  the  spot-light. 
Paddy  had  packed  the  cake  right  on  the  top,  but,  by 
a  most  extraordinary  reversal,  it  was  discovered  on 
the  bottom,  its  noble  proportions  very  much  out  of 
line.  And,  oh  dear,  oh  dear !  The  frosting  had  all 
come  off  on  the  paper!  And  now  what  is  this  big 
bulky  bundle  that  was  on  top  of  it?  Ah,  of  course! 
Paddy  unwrapped  with  a  flourish  a  bottle,  Pomerey 
Sec.  "The  last  of  a  royal  line!"  she  cried. 
"We  '11  have  it  for  Christmas  dinner  to-morrow," 
said  Charlotte,  rescuing  it.  Paddy  had  had  it  by 
the  neck  and  was  handling  it  like  an  Indian  club. 
Then  Paddy  had  to  be  shown  the  chicken,  which  she 
felt  all  over  with  the  air  of  a  chef  premier  and  pro- 
nounced "of  an  ineffability." 

So  they  talked  on  and  on,  ranging  easily  from 
legal  adjustments  to  giblet  gravy.  Neither  was 
hungry,  so  they  contented  themselves  with  tea  and 
Mary's  cake  for  supper.  At  nine  o'clock  Paddy 
drooped  and  confessed  fatigue.  The  conductor  had 
insisted  on  gossiping  to  her  during  the  whole  train 
trip.  Disconcerting  and  tedious.  So  she  went  in 
to  her  little  alcove  bedroom  and  with  a  cheerful 
"Buono  notte"  she  shut  the  door. 

Charlotte  undressed  slowly.  The  metamorphosis 
from  divan  to  bed  was  effected,  and  she  settled  her- 


166  GIBBETED  GODS 

self  for  the  night.  She  was  tired,  but  she  could  not 
sleep.  She  was  happy ;  yes,  she  was  happy,  but  that 
dull  ache  in  her  heart  was  still  there.  The  rays  of 
the  winter's  moon  shone  faintly  through  the  skylight, 
illuminating  the  clumsy  little  room  with  a  pale, 
strange  glow.  One  ray,  the  brightest,  rested  on  the 
holly  over  the  mantel. 

The  tears  welled  to  Charlotte's  eyes  and  she  buried 
her  face  in  the  pillow.  A  year  ago  she  had  passed 
over  without  comment  the  decorations  Hendy  had 
labored  to  achieve  for  their  Christmas  cheer.  But, 
as  she  lay  there  sobbing,  the  warm  vision  of  him, 
busy  with  his  bright  wreaths  and  holly,  blurred  to 
that  other  image  when,  as  he  lay  dying,  he  had  in- 
trusted Paddy  to  her  care. 

"Paddy !"  he  had  murmured,  and,  as  Charlotte  lay 
there,  the  sweetness  of  his  smile  seemed  to  pervade 
her  spirit  with  its  message  of  gentle  faith. 

Paddy!  Charlotte  roused  herself.  Yes,  she  was 
going  to  make  Paddy  very  happy.  Paddy's  happi- 
ness was  to  be  the  atonement  of  her  wrong  to  Hendy. 
She  smiled  a  little.  The  moon  was  very  bright 
now;  her  eyes  rested  on  the  holly  over  the  mantel 
with  steady  calm.  Christmas  Eve !  Peace  and  good 
will  to  men !  She  sighed.  Her  thoughts  turned  to 
those  other  Christmas  Eves  in  Florence  when  they 
had  all  been  so  happy  together.  And  then — then, 


GIBBETED  GODS  167 

yes,  there  had  been  Christmas  Eves  for  Paddy  and 
Hendy  before  ever  she  had  been  born.  Poor  Hendy ! 
Poor  Paddy! 

A  half-hour  later  she  had  fallen  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XV 

CHARLOTTE'S  main  object  in  settling  in  New 
York  was  to  study  art,  that  she  might  eventu- 
ally by  some  commercial  application  of  it  increase 
her  income.  Paddy  was  to  do  the  housekeeping, 
and  so  keep  out  of  mischief.  The  scheme  worked 
well.  Paddy  was  given  a  certain  amount  of  money 
with  which  to  do  the  marketing,  a  process  that  took 
hours.  She  made  fast  friends  of  all  the  trades- 
gentlemen  and  never  came  in  without  a  dozen  most 
extraordinary  adventures  to  relate  with  graphic 
animation.  She  soon  became  a  prime  favorite  with 
all  the  urchins  in  the  neighborhood  and  dispensed 
pennies  with  a  princely  largesse.  She  knew  how 
many  children  the  iceman  had,  what  ladies  in  the 
district  were  of  negligible  reputation,  how  many 
dark-eyed  restaurant-keepers  boasted  royal  blood  in 
their  veins.  Oh,  yes,  Paddy  knew  her  district 
thoroughly,  and  by  degrees  Charlotte  learned  it,  too. 
She  would  figure  indefinitely  to  find  a  dollar  that 
Paddy  was  begging  for  young  Giuseppe  Salvati, 
who  wanted  to  go  to  the  circus;  or  she  would  do 

without  pastries  for  lunch  that  the  fifty  cents  might 

168 


GIBBETED  GODS  169 

buy  for  some  nice  old  lady — "a  good  old  soul  but 
weak,"  as  Paddy  reported  it — a  drink  of  real 
whisky.  Paddy's  charities  were  as  bizarre  as  they 
were  extensive. 

In  regard  to  her  household  duties  Paddy  made 
good,  in  that  she  lifted  the  practical  to  the  higher 
level  of  the  imaginative.  She  decried  the  rut; 
housekeeping,  according  to  her,  should  be  made  to 
partake  of  the  nature  of  a  beautiful  adventure. 
Paddy  had  brilliant,  exhilarating  ideas;  there  was 
no  question  about  it.  Each  day  abounded  in 
elaborate  surprises,  some  of  which  could  be  eaten, 
others  of  which  ended  ignominiously  in  the  refuse- 
can.  However,  no  remembrance  of  past  failures 
could  ever  dampen  Paddy's  ardor  for  experiments, 
the  richer  and  more  complex  the  better.  But  there 
was  rather  a  jolly  gamble  about  it,  so  Charlotte 
let  her  go,  with  only  an  occasional  insistence  on  a 
potato  or  plain  boiled  rice.  Paddy  talked  un- 
ceasingly as  she  worked,  made  of  the  little  kitchen- 
ette "a  salon,  so  to  speak";  she  smoked,  too.  A 
cigarette,  however,  once  put  down  was  forgotten, 
and  perforce  burnt  out,  unobserved,  its  little  life, 
and  whatever  else  happened  to  be  in  its  immediate 
proximity  as  well.  Holes  appeared — it  was  really 
most  astounding — in  the  rug,  in  the  upholstered 
chairs,  even  in  the  curtains.  The  kitchenette 
shelves  were  as  strange  cabalistic  signs  wrought  in 


170  GIBBETED  GODS 

burnt  wood.  Charlotte  tried  to  be  firm  and  ex- 
tracted a  dozen  promises  daily.  Of  no  avail, 
however ! 

"You  know,  the  most  extraordinary  thing — " 
Paddy  would  greet  Charlotte  hardly  in  the  door. 
"The  waste-basket — dear  me,  yes!  Most  spectac- 
ular blaze!  Spontaneous  combustion,  without  a 
doubt!" 

"But  what  did  you  do?"  cried  Charlotte,  alarmed. 

"Played  Nero  and  watched  it  burn,"  retorted 
Paddy,  chuckling,  "to  get  fresh  inspiration.  Be- 
hold my  new  Iliad,"  she  wound  up,  indicating  a 
chocolate  pudding. 

Yes,  indeed,  keeping  house  was  gay  and  jolly 
and  dangerous  under  the  regime  of  the  incorrigible 
Paddy. 

Charlotte  went  daily  to  the  League.  She  liked 
the  life  there,  the  enthusiasm,  the  eagerness.  Her 
own  zest  for  painting  came  back  and  she  worked 
with  ardor.  She  took  her  fellow  students,  however, 
in  a  detached  way.  Collectively,  they  made  for  a 
certain  vividness  of  background,  a  geniality  of 
atmosphere.  But  individually,  why  bother"? 

Then  one  day  as  she  sat  painting,  there  came 
within  her  range  of  vision  a  face  strangely  familiar, 
a  face  that  startled  poignant  memories.  She 
stopped  abruptly.  Roger  Canby !  His  resemblance 
to  Hendy  was  the  more  striking  now,  for  he  seemed 


GIBBETED  GODS  171 

older,  more  fine-drawn  than  when  she  had  seen 
him  on  shipboard.  Only  a  little  over  a  year  ago 
that  was;  it  did  n't  seem  possible,  so  much  had  hap- 
pened to  her  since! 

She  could  see  Roger  more  clearly  now  and  studied 
him  reflectively.  She  wondered  vaguely  what  the 
year  had  brought  him.  Yes,  he  was  very  like 
Hendy.  Her  eyes  followed  him  as  he  rose  and 
walked  across  the  room.  That  same  slenderness  of 
structure,  the  fine  quality  of  his  quietness  that  was 
yet  a  nervous  restraint,  a  tempering  of  intensity. 
He  had  gone  back  to  his  easel  now.  Charlotte 
glanced  at  the  picture  on  it,  then  rose  impulsively 
and  went  over  to  him.  She  saw  that  he  recognized 
her,  but  they  did  not  descend  to  the  banalities  of 
recollection. 

She  indicated  his  picture  on  the  easel.  "I  was 
noticing  it  before  class  this  morning,"  she  said 
simply.  "It  is  so  fine,  I  wanted  to  tell  you." 

He  smiled  at  her.  She  was  conscious  of  shadows 
in  his  eyes,  of  a  light  but  partially  glimmering 
through. 

"I  like  it,"  he  said.  "I  am  glad  you  do."  His 
voice  was  firmer  than  she  expected. 

"  You  do  entirely  landscapes?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.     "And  you  do  portraits." 

So  he  had  noticed  her!     Charlotte  was  pleased. 

"But  I  never  finish  them,"  she  confessed. 


172  GIBBETED  GODS 

He  laughed  at  that.     "You  are  restless,  then!" 

Charlotte  considered  this;  it  was  a  new  idea  to 
her. 

They  touched  fleetingly  on  color,  on  line.  Then 
Charlotte  went  back  to  her  own  place.  Yes,  he  was 
very  like  Hendy,  but  there  was  a  difference  that 
eluded  her. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  a  friendship  that  was 
purely  and  simply  a  relation  of  understanding,  of 
sympathy.  Neither  made  an  attempt  to  extend  it 
beyond  the  class  room,  as  if  reluctant  to  reduce  it 
to  the  commonplace  of  address  and  telephone.  They 
met  at  their  work;  they  talked;  they  liked  each 
other.  And  always  the  light  in  Roger's  eyes  was 
dimmed  by  shadow,  and  always  Charlotte  wondered. 
Would  love  wreck  Roger's  life  as  it  had  wrecked 
Hendy's*?  Roger  believed  as  Hendy  had  once 
believed,  as  she  herself  had  believed.  She  had 
made  that  out  in  the  very  beginning;  Roger  was  an 
idealist.  How  would  it  end?  A  strange  accession 
of  tenderness  would  sweep  her  as  she  questioned. 
But  as  she  watched  him  at  his  work  her  doubts 
became  quiescent.  His  work  was  his  life;  in  his 
devotion  to  that  he  might  be  able,  perhaps,  to  keep 
the  purity  of  his  faith;  in  his  devotion  to  that  he 
might  find  his  happiness  as  she  was  finding  hers  in 
her  devotion  to  Paddy.  She  enjoyed  her  musings,  in 
spite  of  their  melodramatic  tinge,  at  which  she  often 


GIBBETED  GODS  173 

found  herself  smiling  broadly.  On  the  whole, 
Charlotte's  intercourse  with  Roger  that  winter  did 
much  for  her.  Though  her  actual  belief  in  life  could 
never  be  restored,  she  was  able  to  regain  a  certain 
naturalness  of  outlook  that  worked  to  a  partial 
optimism.  With  Roger  she  could  be  herself  again. 
The  harsh  aggressiveness,  the  flippant  destructive- 
ness  that  were  still  a  part  of  her  defensive  attitude 
toward  the  outside  world  were  discarded  in  his 
presence.  If  the  rest  of  the  students  set  her  down 
as  a  cynic,  a  snob,  perhaps  even  as  a  bully,  Roger 
saw  her  as  she  really  was,  simple,  straightforward, 
frank  and  tender.  The  friendship  proved  a  splendid 
one  and  both  Roger  and  Charlotte  were  happy 
in  it. 

Then,  too,  for  Charlotte  that  winter,  there  was 
Dolly.  Not  that  she  saw  much  of  Dolly,  for  she 
refused  decisively  to  be  included  in  any  of  Dolly's 
parties. 

"As  long  as  I  can't  live  up  to  it,  why  should  I 
go  in  at  all1?"  she  reasoned  sagely.  "That  life  is 
no  longer  mine." 

"But  you  '11  marry  money !"  Dolly  had  stated 
dispassionately. 

"Of  course!"   corroborated   Paddy,   bright-eyed. 

Charlotte  did  not  meet  this. 

However,  there  was  a  great  joy  in  the  days  Dolly 
came  to  her.  The  apartment  at  first  had  filled  Dolly 


174  GIBBETED  GODS 

with  amazement.  Her  wide  blue  eyes  kept  looking 
about  for  more.  But  once  she  had  fully  grasped  its 
limitations,  it  took  on  the  nature  of  something  so 
bizarre — so  ridiculous,  in  fact — that  it  won  her 
completely  and  she  "yearned  to  it,"  Dolly's  own 
expression.  She  adored  coming  down  and  drinking 
tea  out  of  the  sadly  maimed  tea-cups.  She  would 
arrive  in  her  lovely  sables,  sink  among  the  dirty 
cushions  on  the  divan,  and  sigh  sadly.  Dolly  was 
beginning  to  see  the  limitations  of  her  own  sphere 
of  life  and  was  adopting  a  pretty  ennui  of  it. 
"Nothing  but  dinners  and  dances  and  parties,"  she 
murmured  wistfully. 

Dolly's  career  had  been  a  peculiar  one.  She  had 
taken  with  a  certain  indifference  the  homage,  the 
love-making,  the  extravagant  feting  that  were  hers 
by  right  of  her  millions.  She  had  been  unmoved 
and  untouched.  Dolly  had  curiosities,  not  always 
wholesome  ones;  she  lacked  utterly,  however,  the 
energy  to  achieve  experience.  So  now  she  began  to 
fancy  herself  as  bored  with  this  life  that  had  given 
her  nothing,  to  read  her  temperament  as  an  artistic 
one,  pathetically  thwarted  by  environment.  This 
idea  began  to  absorb  her  more  and  more  as  she 
gazed  up  at  the  big  north  skylight  and  sipped  her 
lukewarm  tea.  She  had  been  moved  to  express  her- 
self with  unusual  definiteness  one  day. 

"I  should  like  to  have  a  studio,"  she  brought  forth. 


GIBBETED  GODS  175 

"Not  like  this,  of  course,  but  a  really  smart  one — " 
There  was  something  wistful  and  sweet  and  na'ive 
in  Dolly's  tactlessness.  "A  smart  place,"  she  pur- 
sued, "where  you  could  get  the  right  people  together 
for  bohemian  parties — " 

"I  see  what  you  mean."  Paddy  took  it  seriously. 
"Have  a  salon." 

"Yes,  that's  just  it,"  Dolly  put  in  eagerly. 

Paddy  nodded.     "And  be  a  Recamier !" 

"Yes."     Dolly's  blue  eyes  brightened. 

"You  're  cut  out  for  it,"  said  Paddy  enthusi- 
astically. "A  brilliant  hostess,  voila  tout!  Control 
conversation,  turn  the  tide  of  politics,  leave  your 
imprint  on  art,  music,  and  letters — " 

"Yes,"  nodded  Dolly  with  rapturous  innocence. 
"That's  just  what  I  mean!" 

Charlotte  refused  to  meet  Paddy's  eyes.  Paddy's 
sport  of  Dolly  angered  her  beyond  measure.  She 
changed  the  subject  abruptly. 

Dolly  came  down  to  supper  occasionally,  bringing 
champagne.  The  parties  were  pleasant  ones ;  eating 
on  a  card-table  seemed  to  Dolly,  perhaps,  the  first 
step  toward  the  realization  of  her  Recamier  vision. 

"Why  don't  you  try  to  paint?"  Paddy  put  it  to  her 
once. 

"I  'm  sure  I  could  if  I  tried,"  Dolly  said.  "But 
it  is  rather  messy,  is  n't  it?"  she  appealed  to 
Charlotte,  who,  laughing,  pointed  at  her  dirty  smock. 


176  GIBBETED  GODS 

"What  would  you  like  to  paint  ?"  Paddy  pressed 
for  particulars. 

"Flowers,  I  think,"  said  Dolly. 

Paddy  nodded.  "That  would  have  been  my  line, 
had  I  painted !"  she  commented.  Her  eyes  gleamed ; 
Charlotte  was  busy  now  in  the  kitchenette. 

"Speaking  of  flower-painting — "  Paddy  leaned 
over  and  put  her  hand  confidentially  on  Dolly's  arm. 
"Don't  you  adore  Rembrandt's  'Portrait  of  a  Daisy"? 
Let 's  see,  Louvre,  is  n't  if?"  This  last  in  a  tone  as 
of  one  art  connoisseur  to  another. 

Dolly  in  a  faint  voice  thought  it  was. 

But  no,  there  was  one  other  Paddy  liked  better — 
Velasquez's  "Bunch  of  Buttercups" ! 

"Now,  there  is  temperament  for  you!"  cried 
Paddy,  excitedly,  flinging  herself  back  in  her  chair. 
"There  is  action!" 

And  Dolly  began  to  feel  that  at  last  she  was 
making  good  in  Paddy's  eyes. 

"Fl&ur  du  mall''''  Paddy  called  her  slyly  after  that. 
Dolly,  all  unsuspecting,  was  delighted. 

Charlotte  took  exception  to  this  after  Dolly  had 
left.  "Dolly  is  good!"  she  declared  stoutly. 

"How  do  you  know1?"  queried  Paddy. 

After  all,  how  did  she  know*?  How  did  she 
know  anything,  for  that  matter"? 

Her  adoration  of  Dolly  persisted,  however,  in 
spite  of  Paddy's  gibes.  Dolly  was  there  for 


GIBBETED  GODS  177 

Charlotte  as  she  had  been  in  the  old  days  of  the 
Newport  show,  a  lovely  little  thing  to  care  for  and 
protect.  She  reacted  to  Dolly  at  certain  times  of 
nervous  irritability  as  one  would  react  to  the  re- 
freshing innocence  of  a  child.  Dolly's  tepidity 
she  called  gentleness,  Dolly's  vacuity  reserve.  Oc- 
casionally she  and  Dolly  took  long  rides  out  in  the 
country  in  Dolly's  limousine,  away  out  where  the 
air  was  pure  and  the  snow  was  clean.  She  found 
it  blissfully  restful  and  attributed  it  all  to  Dolly, 
pretending  not  to  hear  when  Paddy  muttered  about 
expensive  springs  and  extravagant  upholstery.  Still, 
the  difference  of  opinion  in  regard  to  Dolly  was 
a  minor  consideration,  after  all. 

It  was  the  first  of  February,  when  they  had  been 
in  New  York  about  a  month,  that  the  first  real  issue 
arose  between  Charlotte  and  Paddy.  Paddy  had  to 
all  appearances  accepted  without  question  Charlotte's 
every  edict  in  regard  to  the  financial  ruling  of  the 
establishment.  She  was  given,  besides  her  own 
private  allowance,  so  much  a  week  with  which  to  run 
the  house.  No  bills,  of  course ;  that  was  understood. 
Besides,  none  of  the  small  shops  where  they  traded 
would  have  given  them  credit,  anyway,  for  they 
were  total  strangers.  So  when  the  first  bill  arrived, 
Charlotte  put  it  down  as  a  mistake. 

"You  paid  for  these  things,  Paddy;  did  n't  you1?" 
she  asked. 


178  GIBBETED  GODS 

"Why  of  course!"  answered  Paddy,  annoyed. 
"How  stupid !  I  '11  go  right  over  and  talk  to  them !" 

She  took  the  bill  and  secreted  it  under  some  books. 
Paddy  was  always  secreting  little  things  here  and 
there,  as  a  squirrel  does  nuts. 

In  the  next  mail  came  six  other  bills.  Paddy 
went  to  the  door  and  under  cover  of  much  banter 
with  the  janitress  deftly  slipped  them  all  in  her 
pocket.  Then  she  began  to  hum. 

Charlotte  was  busy  at  her  easel;  she  stopped 
short  in  her  work  and  listened.  There  was  a  peculiar 
quality  in  that  hum  that  meant  something. 

"What  is  it,  Paddy?"  she  asked. 

"  'Vertisement !"  answered  Paddy  glibly,  waving 
a  hand-bill  that  had  been  about  the  place  for  a  week. 
"Listen  to  this,  my  child.  Stupendous  bargains! 
Ginghams,  prints — " 

Charlotte  watched  her  shrewdly. 

"What 's  that  in  your  pocket1?"  she  asked. 

"Pocket!"  exclaimed  Paddy.  "Pocket!"  and 
there  was  a  guileless  bewilderment  in  her  eyes  as 
they  met  Charlotte's. 

Charlotte  indicated  the  very  bulging  pocket  in 
question;  then  Paddy  discovered  it,  and  the  letters 
too,  with  a  surprised  exclamation.  They  had  come 
yesterday,  most  extraordinary  thing  how  they'd 
slipped  her  mind.  Then  she  sat  down ,  lit  a  cigarette, 


GIBBETED  GODS  179 

and,  with  narrowed  eyes,  watched  Charlotte  open  the 
incriminating  missives. 

Charlotte  was  staggered.  She  was  conscious,  at 
first,  only  of  a  frightened  dismay  as  to  how  she 
could  make  good  the  amounts  that  stared  up  at  her. 
Then  came  the  hot  sweep  of  her  anger  against  Paddy. 
Paddy  had  flagrantly  upset  the  whole  scheme  of 
their  life  as  she  had  so  carefully  worked  it  out! 
Paddy — But  as  she  turned,  the  old  feeling  of  help- 
lessness overwhelmed  her.  How  to  reach  Paddy  in 
the  treacherous  quicksand  of  her  deceit?  But  even 
as  she  hesitated,  trembling,  uncertain,  Paddy  took  the 
initiative  in  all  blitheness. 

"Of  course  it 's  all  a  joke,"  she  said,  and,  putting 
back  her  head,  laughed  shrilly  to  prove  it. 

"Are  you  sure*?"  asked  Charlotte,  in  a  low  voice. 
She  had  some  vague  idea  of  fighting  Paddy  with  her 
own  weapons,  of  tricking  her  into  confession. 

"Dear  me,  yes !  I  have  the  receipts,  all  of  them, 
in  my  bag,"  answered  Paddy,  promptly.  "I  'm  very 
careful,  you  know." 

"Receipts  for  cash  payments?"  asked  Charlotte. 

"Well — so  to  speak,"  came  back  Paddy,  nothing 
daunted.  "I  have  the  shopkeepers'  word,  you  see — " 

"In  your  bag?"  pressed  Charlotte. 

That  was  a  joke  which  Paddy  greeted  with 
hilarity.  Charlotte,  herself,  smiled  a  little,  seeing 


i8o  GIBBETED  GODS 

the  absurdity  of  the  method  she  had  blundered  into. 
Of  course  Paddy  enjoyed  to  the  full  being  driven  into 
ridiculous  corners. 

Strange  to  say,  in  this  little  bicker,  all  of 
Charlotte's  animosity  toward  Paddy  had  become 
dissipated.  As  she  stood  looking  down  at  her,  the 
shifting  glint  of  her  eyes,  the  unsteadiness  of  the 
fluttering  hands,  the  thin  stoop  of  the  shoulders 
wrapped  tightly  in  an  old  dirty  shawl,  forced  home 
their  tragic  message.  Paddy  was  not  responsible. 

"Paddy,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  full  of  a 
passionate  pity,  "why  don't  you  tell  me  the  truth ?" 

But  Paddy  showed  herself  still  capable  of  evasion 
and  murmured  of  a  hole  in  the  pocket  of  her  new 
eleven-dollar  coat.  "The  money  must  have  slipped 
out.  Now,  just  fancy,  Charley,  I  have  had  that 
coat  only — " 

"Don't,  Paddy!"  Charlotte  interrupted,  this 
time  bitterly.  "You  spent  that  money.  Is  n't  the 
allowance  I  give  you  for  yourself,  for — for  your 
wants,  enough1?" 

"Oh,  plenty,  plenty!"  cried  Paddy,  affably. 
"Very  generous,  very  generous,  I  'm  sure !" 

"Is  it  enough*?"     Charlotte  pressed  her  again. 

Paddy  hesitated.  Then,  "No,"  she  brought  out 
waveringly. 

"Very  well,"  said  Charlotte.  "Then  I  '11  manage 
somehow  to  give  you  more,  if  you  '11  promise — " 


GIBBETED  GODS  181 

Promise!  She  was  brought  up  short  with  the 
nice  irony  of  that  word,  but  Paddy  had  already  com- 
mitted herself.  She  promised,  solemnly,  on  her 
honor.  Albeit,  Charlotte  went  about,  herself,  to 
see  the  shopkeepers,  to  insist  that  credit  be  stopped. 
Dirty,  suspicious,  wily  creatures  they  were  without 
exception.  How  under  the  heavens  did  Paddy 
manage  it,  Charlotte  asked  herself  continually  as  she 
went  the  rounds.  "No  credit!"  "Cash  only!" 
The  very  signs  shrieked  out  distrust  of  the  world  at 
large.  Truly,  Paddy  was  possessed  of  the  devil  of 
circumvention ! 

There  followed  a  tiresome  week  for  Charlotte, 
when  she  learned  much  in  regard  to  the  etiquette  of 
barter  as  observed  by  second-hand  dealers.  She  dis- 
posed of  a  number  of  things  that  they  had  in  storage, 
"which  makes  the  storage  bill  so  much  less"  she 
remarked  with  grim  humor  to  Paddy. 

Matters  were  adjusted  in  the  end,  however,  and 
Charlotte  and  Paddy  fell  'back  into  their  former 
routine.  Paddy  brought  home  each  day  elaborate 
receipts  of  her  purchases  and  left  them  on  Charlotte's 
easel.  At  the  end  of  each  was  scribbled  a  little 
reflection  of  Paddy's  own.  She  started  off  rather  in 
the  personal  vein,  "A  good  woman  is  an  abomination 
unto  the  Lord" ;  but  after  that  she  contented  herself 
with  the  impersonal,  achieving  epigrams  that  would 
have  delighted  La  Rochefoucauld,  or  delving  into 


i82  GIBBETED  GODS 

philosophy  of  Aurelian  vein.  Charlotte's  amuse- 
ment, which  she  showed  frankly,  was  a  certain  com- 
pensation to  Paddy  for  her  daily  honesty.  It  was 
rather  a  jolly  pastime,  of  the  nature  of  a  new  and 
absorbing  game. 

In  February  George  Baird  shot  himself.  Paddy 
had  come  in  breathless  one  day,  with  the  paper. 

"Poor  dear  George!  The  only  decent  thing  he 
ever  did  in  his  life.  Yes — right  there !  Oh,  no — 
here!  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  picture?  Fancy, 
though — he  actually  had  the  courage  to  do  it!  I 
never  thought — " 

Charlotte  read  the  account  to  the  end  with  a 
strange  indifference.  She  felt  no  sorrow  for  this 
man  she  had  once  thought  to  be  her  father,  and 
pretended  to  none.  Why  should  she?  His  con- 
duct to  Paddy  had  been,  perhaps,  after  all,  justifi- 
able, but  that  realization  in  no  way  softened  her 
mood.  Later,  when  the  will  was  probated,  she  ig- 
nored it,  but  Paddy  insisted  on  reading  it  aloud. 
According  to  the  will,  which  had  been  made  ten  years 
before,  the  bulk  of  the  fortune,  amounting  to  several 
million  dollars,  was  to  go  "to  my  dearly  beloved  son, 
Philip  Petherbridge  Baird." 

This,  Paddy  announced  to  Charlotte,  was  really  a 
great  sell  on  Philip  because,  don't  you  see,  now 
there  was  n't  any  money  left.  "Yesterday's  ticker 


GIBBETED  GODS  183 

am  I,"  quoted  Paddy  and  then  wound  up,  not  un- 
kindly, "Poor,  stupid  George!" 

So  the  winter  passed  with  little  to  distinguish  one 
day  from  another.  Dolly  and  Roger  remained 
Charlotte's  sole  friends,  but  Paddy  added  fresh  ones 
to  her  list  every  day.  Charlotte  was  continually 
surprising  some  new  person  there  for  tea.  Strange, 
perverted  creatures  for  the  most  part,  all  of  a  certain 
damaged  genius,  like  Paddy. 

"Where  do  you  find  them,  Paddy?"  she  asked 
curiously  one  day. 

"Under  lamp-posts  generally !"  came  back  Paddy, 
confidentially. 

There  was  one  thing  Paddy's  stray  friends  all 
seemed  to  have  in  common.  In  whatever  status  of 
life  they  had  started  out,  they  had  all  succeeded  in 
sinking  to  a  lower  one.  Charlotte  refused  stolidly 
to  face  the  possibility  of  a  bond  of  more  insidious 
nature. 

The  descent  of  man  was  an  absorbing  study  to 
Paddy.  Charlotte,  too,  found  a  strange  interest  in 
these  derelicts  of  fortune  and  was  willing  to  over- 
look the  alarming  quantities  of  bread  and  butter 
they  consumed  at  a  polite  sitting,  for  the  sake  of  the 
grotesque  tales  of  tragi-comedy  they  had  to  offer. 
But  Paddy  tired  of  her  friends  very  quickly,  giving 
them  the  gate,  as  it  were,  after  two  or  three  canters 


184  GIBBETED  GODS 

about  the  ring;  thus  Charlotte  was  never  exposed  to 
the  boredom  of  seeing  any  one  person  too  frequently. 

If,  however,  people  had  but  a  transitory  interest 
for  Paddy,  she  was  constant  and  true  in  her  devotion 
to  animals.  Some  melancholy  mongrel  was  always 
being  brought  home  for  a  bone,  or  a  waif  of  a  kitten 
for  a  saucer  of  milk.  Charlotte  could  be  firm, 
though,  when  it  came  to  the  suggestion  of  a  perma- 
nent pet.  She  was  glad  to  offer  the  vagrants  of  the 
neighborhood  temporary  food  and  shelter,  but  a  cat 
or  dog  of  their  own!  "Certainly  not!"  she  said  de- 
cisively and  persisted  in  her  refusal  for  all  Paddy's 
yearning  looks  and  sentimental  sighings. 

Then  Boule  de  Suif  had  come  into  their  lives, — 
poor,  dirty,  bedraggled,  black  little  thing  that  she 
was!  Paddy  had  found  her  one  terribly  stormy 
night  in  the  gutter  and  had  brought  her  home,  all 
one  dismal  wet  meow,  with  one  tiny  paw  hurt  and 
bleeding.  It  was  that  particular  little  paw  that 
Boule  de  Suif  had  put  out  to  Charlotte  as  Paddy 
effected  an  elaborate  introduction.  Artful  Boule 
de  Suif!  Or  was  it  simply,  after  all,  that  Paddy 
had  coached  her  on  the  way  upstairs'? 

At  any  rate  Boule  de  Suif  was  added  to  the  family 
circle  without  further  parley  and  soon  became  a  very 
important  member  of  it.  She  constituted  something 
for  Paddy  to  talk  at  when  Charlotte  was  not  there; 
or,  better  still,  something  to  talk  through  when  Char- 


GIBBETED  GODS  185 

lotte  was  present  and  Paddy  was  in  disgrace  and 
things  were  strained. 

All  in  all,  though,  they  lived  their  lives  in  a  genial 
sort  of  comradeship.  Paddy  was  unquestionably 
happy;  so  was  Boule  de  Suif,  and  so,  in  a  way,  was 
Charlotte.  Yet,  as  time  went  on,  the  realization 
was  forced  that  her  happiness  was,  after  all,  only  a 
factitious  one.  For,  deceive  herself  as  she  might, 
the  horror  of  Paddy's  disorder  still  persisted, 
thrusting  itself  relentlessly  into  her  every  thought, 
coloring  her  every  mood.  It  was  this  with  its 
haunting  message  of  evil  that  made  her  restless,  that 
drove  her  from  one  futile  activity  to  another.  Yer, 
what  was  there  for  her  but  a  tacit  condonement? 
She  gave  Paddy  her  allowance,  knowing  perfectly 
how  it  would  be  spent.  She  accepted  her  irregular- 
ities without  comment.  Meals  were  served  at  the 
oddest,  most  unexpected  hours.  Often  on  a  dark 
winter's  morning  Charlotte  would  be  aroused  at  six 
o'clock  to  find  breakfast  on  the  table  and  Paddy 
berating  her  as  a  sluggard.  At  other  times  she  got 
nothing  before  going  to  the  League  except  what  she 
hurriedly  prepared  herself.  As  to  dinner,  nine,  ten, 
eleven — it  didn't  matter  to  Paddy;  time  was  an  ar- 
bitrary thing,  anyhow.  There  were  periods  when 
Paddy  kept  her  room  two  or  three  days  at  a  stretch. 
Charlotte  let  her  alone.  The  impression  of  that 
evil  look  she  had  surprised  in  Paddy's  eyes  on  that 


i86  GIBBETED  GODS 

fateful  night  had  proved  an  ineradicable  one. 
Charlotte  never  could  bring  herself  to  set  foot  in 
the  little  alcove  bedroom.  During  Paddy's  lapses 
Charlotte  was  a  prey  to  the  most  sickening  depres- 
sion. She  got  her  meals  sometimes,  but  the  sight  of 
that  closed  door  usually  drove  her  out  and  she  re- 
sorted to  the  cheap  restaurants  of  the  district.  She 
walked  miles  or  sat  in  the  park  or  rode  in  the  'bus 
as  far  as  she  could  and  then  came  back.  On  days 
when  it  was  too  stormy  to  brave  the  elements  she 
sat,  turned  away  from  that  door,  and  tried  to  paint; 
the  results  were  ludicrous. 

Then  Paddy  would  appear  quite  unexpectedly  and 
artlessly  suggest  it  was  time  for  dinner.  If  hours 
meant  nothing  to  Paddy,  days  meant  less.  But  there 
was  a  queer  little  expression  on  Paddy's  face  after 
these  lapses, — a  smug,  satisfied  little  expression  as 
of  one  who  has  successfully  put  something  over  on 
somebody  else.  This  irritated  Charlotte,  but  she 
soon  lost  sight  of  her  irritation  in  her  attempts  at 
coaxing  Paddy  to  eat.  For  Paddy  was  weak  from 
lack  of  food,  and  she  was  shaky  and  feeble. 

Poor  Paddy !  So  she  lived  her  life,  her  moments 
of  joyful  soaring,  of  brilliant  ascendency  bought 
dearly  with  the  misery  of  her  resurgent  craving. 
Yet,  for  all  her  suffering,  Paddy  considered  that 
she  had  struck  a  very  good  bargain  with  her  treacher- 


GIBBETED  GODS  187 

oiis  famil-iar,  and  in  her  mistaken,  perverted  way  was 
happy. 

But  Charlotte  in  the  sharpness  of  her  agonized 
perception  realized  the  tragic  extent  of  the  penalty 
Paddy  was  paying  for  her  folly.  It  was  the  strange 
mingling  of  pity  with  her  horror  that  seemed  to 
Charlotte  at  times  the  thing  she  could  not  endure. 

In  May  Charlotte  had  an  attack  of  the  grippe. 
Perhaps  their  irregular  way  of  living  had  told  on  her 
splendid  constitution  at  last!  With  her  illness 
came  her  first  reaction  from  their  shoddy  mode  of 
life.  Hitherto,  she  had  accepted  without  question 
the  change  in  their  circumstances.  She  had  adapted 
herself  unconsciously  to  necessity,  her  mind  ever 
busy  with  the  complexities  of  her  larger  problems. 
But  now  each  forced  economy  irked,  each  incon- 
venience aggravated  her  mood  of  irritable  discontent. 
Her  mind  reverted  bitterly  to  the  last  time  she  had 
been  ill,  when  she  was  a  child  at  Idle  Ease.  The 
charming  room,  the  dainty  trays,  the  nurse,  soft- 
footed  and  coolly  white,  the  flowers  on  her  dressing- 
table!  And  now  Charlotte  dragged  herself  out  of 
bed  each  day,  for  the  living-room  where  she  slept 
was  at  the  mercy  of  the  janitor  and  the  iceman  and 
the  delivery  boys.  She  dressed  while  Paddy  made 
up  the  couch,  then  she  threw  herself  wearily  upon  it 
again  with  a  dirty  steamer  rug  over  her.  And 


188  GIBBETED  GODS 

always  the  room  was  hot  and  the  light  from  the  sky- 
light hurt  her  eyes  and  Paddy  chattered  unceasingly 
and  Boule  de  Suif  jumped  all  over  her.  The  jan- 
itress  gossiped  tediously  at  the  door  and  the  grocery 
boy  made  pert  jokes  with  Paddy.  Some  one  sug- 
gested a  doctor,  but  to  have  a  stranger  prying  into  the 
disorders  of  their  household  seemed  to  Charlotte  the 
last  agony.  She  refused  point-blank.  The  food 
Paddy  concocted  was  not  of  the  simple  sort  to  tempt 
an  invalid,  so  Charlotte  1'ved  for  the  most  part  on 
orange  juice. 

It  was  a  terrible  ten  days  of  racking  pains  and 
fever  and  a  sickening  weakness.  Dolly  had  come 
one  day  and  brought  champagne,  but  the  ice  was  low, 
so  it  tasted  stale  and  tepid.  Ten  days !  They 
dragged  a  slow,  interminable  length.  However,  the 
pains  and  aches  subsided  gradually.  Not  so 
Charlotte's  discontent!  To  get  away,  to  get  away, 
out  in  the  country  somewhere;  that  desire  obsessed 
her  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  thought.  To  get 
away,  yes,  and  by  herself!  It  came  down  to  that; 
she  wanted  to  get  away  from  Paddy. 

She  asked  Paddy  for  her  bank-book  one  day. 
"And  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil."  But  there 
were  no  pencils  sharpened.  In  her  attempts  to 
sharpen  one  with  the  carving-knife,  Paddy  cut  her 
finger.  Charlotte  bandaged  it  up ;  after  that  she  was 
too  weak  to  follow  out  her  figuring. 


GIBBETED  GODS  189 

Then  Dolly  came  to  the  front  with  a  happy  sug- 
gestion. Their  camp  in  the  Adirondacks  for  a 
month!  Why  not1?  It  was  always  open — 

Why  not  indeed?  The  thought  was  of  tonic 
effect.  Charlotte  turned  to  Paddy. 

"How  about  it,  Paddy?'  she  asked.  "We  could 
go,  don't  you  think?"  She  had  an  overwhelming 
sense  of  guilt  at  the  lack  of  conviction  in  that  "we." 
Paddy's  eyes  met  hers.  Charlotte  felt  herself 
reddening. 

"I*?"  cried  Paddy.  "Darling  child,  what  are  you 
thinking  of?  I  couldn't  possibly  leave  Boule  de 
Suif."  She  turned,  gaily  chattering  to  Dolly  of 
indiscretions  in  which  Boule  de  Suif,  if  left  alone, 
might  all  inadvertently  become  involved.  "You 
see,  /  argue  with  her,"  Paddy  explained.  "I — " 
But  her  thoughts  were  obviously  wandering.  In 
the  nervous  restlessness  of  her  eyes  as  they  now 
came  back  to  Charlotte's,  Charlotte  read,  not  the 
hurt  resentment  she  had  expected  but  an  eager, 
tremulous,  excited  joy.  It  was  with  a  pang  Char- 
lotte understood.  If  the  month  was  to  be  a  relief 
for  her  from  the  irk  of  Paddy's  presence,  it  was  to 
be  no  less  the  gayest  holiday  for  Paddy.  There 
was  the  nicest  justice  in  it,  of  course,  but  Charlotte, 
as  she  turned  and  closed  an  acceptance  with  Dolly, 
was  miserably,  pathetically,  unaware  of  it. 

The  first  of  June  found  Charlotte  ready  to  go. 


190  GIBBETED  GODS 

She  haa  recovered  her  old  vigor  and  with  it  a  certain 
optimism.  More  than  that,  she  was  excited,  tre- 
mendously so.  "I  feel  as  I  felt  the  day  of  my  first 
circus,"  she  said,  amused  at  her  own  ebullience. 
As  she  packed  her  trunk,  she  talked  gaily  to  Paddy, 
planning  this  and  that,  now  for  Paddy,  now  for 
herself.  The  awnings  she  had  ordered  for  the 
windows  were  promised  for  the  next  day.  Paddy 
would  be  more  comfortable  with  that  scorching 
afternoon  sun  shut  out.  And,  remember — Char- 
lotte emphasized  this — the  things  were  paid  for. 
She  left  addressed  envelopes  that  Paddy  might 
write  her  every  day. 

"I  should  hate  to  put  it  up  to  the  Adirondack  post- 
master to  make  out  your  scrawl,  Paddy,"  she  said. 
Paddy  liked  to  be  reminded  that  her  chirography 
was  eccentric.  "I  'm  taking  all  my  good  dresses, 
Paddy,"  she  rambled  on.  "No  dirty  smocks,  thank 
you.  I  intend  to — how  is  it  the  English  say  it? — 
swank  up  every  night  to  impress  the  Laurence 
domestics.  Picture  me,  all  by  myself,  evening  dress, 
satin  slippers!  Just  fancy,  I  haven't  seen  a  satin 
slipper  for  a  year." 

Yes,  Charlotte  was  undeniably  excited.  She  was 
glad  of  this;  in  excitement  would  she  find  the  rest 
she  so  sadly  needed.  She  took  a  taxi  to  the  station, 
and  bought  her  ticket  and  a  section  with  a  sense 
of  satisfied  recklessness.  She  had  on  one  of  her 


GIBBETED  GODS  191 

Paris  suits  and  felt  she  looked  well.  She  en- 
gaged in  talk  with  an  intelligent  woman  next  to  her, 
a  woman  just  back  from  Europe,  now  running  up 
to  her  mountain  camp  for  a  brief  rest  before  her 
daughter's  wedding.  The  man  across  the  aisle  was 
talking  of  his  place  in  Lenox  and  his  hunting-dogs. 
The  white  coat  of  the  colored  porter  walking  quietly 
back  and  forth  was  almost  too  spotless.  Charlotte 
breathed  a  deep  sigh,  and  settled  back  in  her  chair. 
The  dingy  little  studio  with  its  dirty  sofa  pillows 
and  cobwebby  skylight  seemed  very,  very  far  away. 
So  did  poor  untidy  Paddy,  and  the  un regenerate 
Boule  de  Suif.  Charlotte  felt  herself  once  more  a 
part  of  that  well-dressed,  well-ordered  world  called 
Society,  that  runs  at  random  over  to  Paris,  up  to  the 
mountains,  down  to  Palm  Beach;  that  world  of 
white-winged  yachts  'and  country  places  and  ex- 
travagance and  opportunity. 

But  Charlotte's  first  sense  of  easy  exhilaration 
at  this  renewal  of  old  contacts  soon  flagged.  As  she 
had  told  Dolly,  she  was  out  of  it;  that  life  was  no 
longer  her  life.  It  was  because  of  this,  because  she 
knew  all  too  definitely  the  limitations  of  poverty, 
that  now  she  could  appreciate  the  more  the  power 
and  lure  of  wealth.  She  thought  of  the  crowded 
little  studio,  then  of  the  cool  spaces  of  Idle  Ease. 
And  those  far-distant  vivid  lands  that  Paddy  had 
known  she  would  never  know.  Yes,  money  was 


192  GIBBETED  GODS 

power;  a  tragic  truth.  Then,  by  the  light  of  this  new 
interpretation,  she  began  to  see  Dolly,  still  a  soft, 
blue-eyed  little  thing,  but  with  a  cruel  scepter  of 
might  in  her  weak,  uncertain  hand.  The  image  was 
disconcerting;  Charlotte  tried  to  shut  it  out  and  went 
to  bed. 

She  thought  of  Paddy ;  perhaps  her  depression  was 
but  a  form  of  homesickness.  The  train,  plunging 
through  the  blackness,  made  of  her  mind  an  inchoate 
confusion.  But  through  it  all  that  new  image  of 
Dolly  persisted, — vague  adumbration,  perhaps,  of 
some  tragic  to-morrow.  She  fell  asleep  at  last,  tired 
out,  perplexed,  despairing  of  she  knew  not  what. 

The  camp,  designated  by  Buchanan  as  his  "shack 
in  the  mountains,"  was  more  complete  and  luxurious 
than  Charlotte  had  imagined  it.  She  had  seen 
pictures  of  it  in  the  magazines,  but  this !  It  was  one 
of  those  half -stone,  wing-extended  houses,  terraced 
at  different  levels  to  the  slope  of  the  mountain,  and 
looking  off  into  a  splendid  openness.  Striking 
example,  it  furnished,  in  that  fastness,  of  what 
money  can  do  in  the  defiance  of  mere  nature. 

Within  the  great  hall  a  barbaric  note  was  struck, 
in  the  immensity  of  the  fireplace,  in  the  gallery  above 
from  the  balustrade  of  which  hung  bright  rugs  and 
warm  tapestries,  in  the  old  spears  and  swords  and 
hunting-trophies  about  the  walls.  Yet,  making 
terms  with  these  relics  of  feudal  splendor,  were  all 


GIBBETED  GODS  193 

the  deep  upholstered  comforts  that  the  lounging 
generation  of  to-day  considers  indispensable.  The 
whole  effect  of  the  place  made  for  luxurious  irre- 
sponsibility. 

Charlotte's  first  exhilaration  of  the  day  beiore  was 
as  nothing  to  her  present  state  of  rapture.  The 
housekeeper  liked  her  enthusiasm;  the  footman,  in 
informal  livery,  who  brought  her  tea  on  the  terrace, 
had  a  genial  countenance.  She  had  a  hot  bath 
before  dinner;  she  had  forgotten  water  could  be 
really  hot.  Then  she  gazed  raptly  at  the  view  from 
her  window,  dressed  herself  with  care,  sat  in  each 
comfortable  chair  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  finally 
went  down  to  dinner.  "We  dine  informally,"  the 
housekeeper  had  told  her,  but  it  seemed  a  mighty 
function  to  Charlotte.  Coffee  and  a  liqueur  on  the 
veranda !  Then  the  moon  began  to  rise. 

Charlotte  breathed  deeply.  Life  again  was 
beautiful  and  wholesome  and  fresh  as  the  pungent 
fragrance  of  the  pines  in  her  nostrils,  as  the  pure 
vigor  of  the  air  in  her  lungs.  Her  febrile  fancies 
of  the  preceding  night  were  forgotten  and  she  was 
possessed  of  a  blessed  content.  She  closed  her  eves 
and  rested. 

The  next  afternoon,  after  a  day  of  supreme  indo- 
lence she  climbed  the  highest  peak  of  the  range  to 
see  the  sunset.  So  utterly  out  of  the  world  she 
seemed  as  she  stood  there,  half-way  between  heaven! 


194  GIBBETED  GODS 

and  earth.  Ridge  on  ridge,  purple,  shadowy, 
stretched  to  the  far  horizon,  and  above  it  all  the  vast 
quiet  of  the  splendid  sky,  lit  by  the  rays  of  the 
setting  sun.  The  glorious  entombment  of  another 
day!  Charlotte  stood  there  rapt,  tremulous,  in 
quivering  response  to  the  beauty,  the  sublimity  of 
that  gorgeous  ritual.  And  so,  by  one  of  those  acci- 
dents that  make  of  life  the  proverbial  thing  far 
stranger  than  any  fiction,  Roger  Canby  found  her. 
He,  too,  had  been  a  lonely  watcher  of  that  sunset, 
but  he  had  turned  from  it  with  a  restless  sigh.  It 
was  then  he  had  seen  Charlotte.  He  uttered  a  little 
exclamation  that  she  echoed,  startled,  as  she  turned 
to  him.  Then,  with  the  warm  light  of  that  dying 
day  in  their  eyes,  they  smiled  at  each  other  their 
quickened  pleasure. 


PART  V 


PART  V 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IT  is  impossible  to  trace  the  phases  by  which 
Charlotte  and  Roger  passed  from  the  wonder 
and  marvel  of  mutual  discovery  to  the  eventual 
acceptance  of  each  other  as  big  and  splendid  facts. 
As  Charlotte  found  herself  smiling  into  Roger's  eyes, 
the  night  of  their  first  meeting,  there  came  to  her  the 
sharp  sense  of  a  situation  too  dramatic  to  be  quite 
free  of  complication.  The  nature  of  the  compli- 
cation Charlotte  faced  unflinchingly  in  the  days  that 
followed.  She  was  romantic;  she  realized  that 
perfectly,  but  so  circumscribed  by  sordid  event  had 
she  been  of  late  that  her  early  dreams  had  been  for- 
gotten. There  was  the  greater  danger,  therefore,  in 
the  sudden  awakening  of  her  former  self,  in  this  stir 
of  old  desires  so  long  suppressed.  Charlotte  wanted 
romance,  she  wanted  love,  life's  supreme  experience, 
the  more  passionately  for  the  realization  of  that 
other  tragic  claim  upon  her. 

During  Charlotte's  illness  not  the  least  part  of 
her  depression  had  lain  in  the  fact  that  the  League 

197 


198  GIBBETED  GODS 

had  closed,  that  she  might  never  see  Roger  again. 
Vague  formless  regrets  of  a  relation  of  unfulfilled 
promise!  Yet  she  had  tried  to  tell  herself  it  was 
better  so;  the  fewer  contacts,  the  less  likely  her 
schedule  of  existence  to  be  disturbed.  Then  sud- 
denly, by  disconcerting  accident,  here  they  were, 
away  up,  splendidly  alone,  caught  in  the  glow  of 
the  setting  sun.  Charlotte's  greeting  was  a  tremu- 
lous one.  They  said  very  little  that  night,  but  met 
the  next  morning  as  if  their  meeting  had  in  it  a 
certain  necessity. 

Charlotte's  happiness  was  an  unsteady,  confused 
sort  of  thing.  In  those  first  few  days  she  learned 
facts  and  took  impressions  without  any  real  assimi- 
lation of  them.  Roger  was  staying  at  a  farm- 
house in  the  neighborhood;  he  and  his  mother  had 
spent  their  summers  there  always,  so  the  district 
was  an  open  book  to  him.  They  walked  miles, 
following  old  difficult  trails  or  making  new  ones. 
Gradually,  as  they  walked  and  climbed  and  talked, 
Roger  became  to  Charlotte  more  than  a  vague  tor- 
menting presence;  he  became  a  man,  bronzed  and 
slim  and  supple.  His  brown  thick  hair,  cut  short, 
showed  the  fine  narrow  framework  of  his  skull. 
His  mouth  was  firm  but  sensitive  as  a  woman's. 
His  eyes — it  was  in  his  eyes,  in  the  contemplation 
of  that  strange  light  struggling  with  the  gray  shad- 
ows that  Charlotte  was  at  last  to  come  to  an  under- 


GIBBETED  GODS  199 

standing  of  the  real  Roger.  Roger  was  singularly 
untried  and  emotionally  undeveloped.  It  was  this 
lack  of  development,  this  innocence,  and  the  peculiar 
defenselessness  it  entailed  that  was  to  constitute 
his  greatest  appeal  to  Charlotte.  The  matter  of 
Dolly  and  the  horse  show  all  over  again ! 

So  Charlotte's  uncertainty,  her  tremulous  doubts 
soon  fell  away  from  her  and  she  saw  her  way  all  too 
startlingly  clear.  It  was  for  her  to  protect  Roger  a- 
gainst  that  world  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  that 
world  of  which  she  herself  with  her  tragic  entangle- 
ments was  a  part.  With  the  clear  realization  that 
she  was  in  love  with  Roger,  that  she  had  been  in  love 
with  him  during  the  whole  of  their  brief  intercourse 
of  the  winter,  there  came  also  a  clear  resolve.  Ro- 
ger must  never  know.  Still,  if  that  light  in  Roger's 
eyes  should  burn  free  of  its  veil  of  shadows — She 
faced  the  warm  vision  of  that  and  her  senses 
throbbed.  But  she  could  not  take  refuge  behind  the 
pretense  of  a  force  stronger  than  her  will,  for  she 
knew  perfectly  that  by  reason  of  her  sophistication 
it  was  for  her  to  set  the  final  stamp  on  the  relation. 
A  fine  and  splendid  friendship !  She  put  it  on  that 
plane  and  forced  herself  to  content.  She  and  Roger 
were  extraordinarily  congenial,  taking  a  ready  zest 
in  each  other. 

Charlotte  came  to  realize  that  she  was  in  all 
probability  Roger's  first  real  friend;  for  his  life,  as 


200  GIBBETED  GODS 

he  told  her  of  it,  had  been  singularly  free  of  outside 
contacts.  He  had  never  been  to  school  or  college. 
His  mother  had  taught  him,  then,  later,  some  rela- 
tive, a  professor  in  Harvard.  His  sojourn  abroad 
had  been  of  too  short  duration  to  enable  him  to  seek 
out  friends;  since  his  mother's  death  his  work  had 
sufficed.  A  simple  little  chronicle;  yet,  strange  to 
say,  it  was  only  Roger's  emotional  development  that 
had  suffered.  His  mind  was  of  a  remarkable  matur- 
ity. He  had  ideas  about  everything,  decisive  opin- 
ions which  he  was  able  to  defend  with  the  clearest 
logic.  Charlotte  didn't  have  a  chance  when  it  came 
to  an  argument.  This  delighted  her.  Often,  in  a 
frivolous  mood,  she  resorted  to  the  most  fantastic 
fallacies,  showing  something  of  Paddy's  adroit  inge- 
nuity in  supporting  them.  Roger's  hearty  laugh  pro- 
voked her  to  ridiculous  absurdities.  Roger's  quick 
sense  of  humor  was  not  the  least  of  his  charm.  So 
they  ran  the  gamut  from  the  serious  to  the  gay  with 
unexpected  surprises  and  amusing  reversals.  Not 
a  topic  escaped  them.  Love,  marriage!  Char- 
lotte kept  her  eyes  calm  and  steady,  her  voice  cool. 

"Love ! — love  should  be  a  thing  of  gossamer  mists, 
shadowy,  mystical.  Romance,  true  romance,  is  of 
the  spirit." 

Roger  shook  his  head.  "Then  what  of  mar- 
riage?" 

"Ah,  marriage !"     Charlotte  let  herself  go.     Mar- 


GIBBETED  GODS  201 

riage  was  a  practical  bargain,  an  economic  relation 
sanctioned  by  the  police.  Marriage  and  love  were 
two  different  things. 

She  did  n't  believe  it.  He  knew  it  and  told  her 
so.  But  she  clung  to  her  argument. 

"Marriage  is  too  real !" 

"Realities  can  be  beautiful  and  tender,"  he  said. 
She  could  not  meet  this.  It  was  just  that — the 
desire  for  realities,  beautiful  and  tender — that  she 
was  fighting  so  passionately. 

Charlotte  had  taken  Roger,  that  first  night,  back 
to  the  camp  to  have  dinner  with  her.  After  that 
they  lunched  and  dined  together  every  day.  The 
table  was  laid  for  two  without  question.  Charlotte 
had  an  idea  that  something  of  the  sort  was  expected 
by  the  servants,  from  the  beginning.  Solitude  is 
sweet,  yes!  But  in  that  solitude  give  me  yet  one 
person  to  whom  I  may  murmur,  "Solitude  is  sweet." 
The  guests  at  the  Laurence  camp  were  fairly  consis- 
tent in  observing  the  code.  So  Roger's  presence 
caused  no  comment  whatsoever. 

Roger  was  as  naive  and  enthusiastic  in  his  appreci- 
ation of  the  place  as  Charlotte  had  been.  The 
esthetic  in  him  responded  to  its  warm  harmonies  and 
nice  proportions;  the  extravagant  comforts  filled 
him  with  an  amused  indolence.  They  confessed  to 
each  other  that  they  adored  luxuries  and  sat  about, 
smiling  contentedly.  There  were  books,  books 


202  GIBBETED  GODS 

everywhere,  and  they  took  to  reading  aloud,  a  half- 
hour  here  and  there.  Their  tastes  differed,  just 
enough  to  open  up  interesting  vistas  of  possible 
discussion.  Roger  read  poetry  so  well  Charlotte 
refused  to  enter  the  lists.  For  the  most  part  they 
kept  outdoors  in  the  open  sunshine  or  in  the  shadow- 
flecked  woods.  But  there  were  days  when  they  were 
shut  in  by  deluges  of  mountain  rain.  Those  were 
the  days  when  they  were  most  keenly  aware  of  each 
other.  Their  intimacy  was  of  so  intense  a  quality 
that  it  provoked  a  dangerous  restlessness.  They 
piled  logs  and  more  logs  upon  the  fire  till  its  great 
roar  outdid  the  mountain  blasts.  They  looked  ever 
and  again  through  the  windows  at  the  desolate  sweep 
of  rain-driven  ridges,  then  they  came  back  to  their 
fireside  warmth.  Charlotte  made  Roger  read  to  her; 
she  made  him  play  to  her.  She  loved  Roger's  music, 
it  made  her  think  of  Hendy's.  'Strange,  weird  fan- 
tasies he  played,  with  a  surprising  strength  of  touch. 
And  there  was  always  a  queer  haunting  restlessness 
of  motif.  Erik  Satie,  Debussy!  Roger  liked  to 
play  and  played  indefinitely  when  she  urged  him. 
"Voiles,"  "Pagodes,"  "Ogives,"  "Gnossiennes," 
occasionally  a  Chopin  prelude.  His  repertoire  was 
varied,  but  it  was  the  modern  French  with  its  magic 
of  dissonance  that  he  came  back  to  every  time. 
"Golliwogg's  Cake-Walk,"  Paddy's  favorite  bit 
of  Debussy — he  knew  that,  too. 


GIBBETED  GODS  203 

There  were  times  when  Charlotte  wanted  to  talk 
to  Roger  of  Paddy  but,  somehow,  she  did  not  know 
where  to  begin.  Paddy  was  a  part  of  that  world  of 
which  Roger  was  unaware;  Paddy  was  a  part  of 
that  world  she  must  go  back  to  very  soon.  Yes, 
very  soon.  The  strange  cadences  of  Roger's  music 
seemed  the  confusion  of  her  own  heart.  Roger,  too, 
at  times  became  silent  and  depressed.  It  was  then 
Charlotte  was  able  to  rouse  herself  to  lighten  his 
mood  with  gay  banter  and  trivial  frivolity.  Or, 
surer  metttod  still,  she  set  up  his  easel  by  the  window, 
pulled  back  the  heavy  draperies,  and  insisted  that  he 
work.  Yes,  Roger's  work  was  his  life.  No  matter 
how  reluctant  or  diffident  he  was  when  he  began, 
once  started  he  forgot  everything  else,  even  Char- 
lotte herself,  as  she  realized  with  a  certain  grim 
amusement.  Roger's  painting  was  of  the  same 
genre  as  his  music, — impressionistic,  strange,  haunt- 
ing. He  worked  with  a  quick,  nervous  intensity  as 
if  eager  to  capture  some  inner  vision  before  it  faded, 
some  vision  of  a  fantastic  beauty,  of  a  more  fantastic 
sadness. 

Charlotte,  as  she  sat  and  watched  him  at  his 
work,  forced  herself  to  content.  A  difficult  mood 
to  sustain,  however,  when  one  is  young  and  ardent 
and  in  love.  As  time  wore  on,  Charlotte  realized 
the  pitiful  mockery  of  it.  The  joy  of  self-sacrifice 
is  a  dull  sort  of  compromise  with  an  eager  passion. 


204  GIBBETED  GODS 

She  knew  what  she  wanted;  she  wanted  Roger  to 
take  her  in  his  arms,  she  wanted  Roger  to  kiss  her. 
Because  she  knew  her  love  was  the  love  rooted  in  a 
fine  understanding  she  was  not  ashamed  of  her  de- 
sire. As  Roger  had  said,  realities  can  be  tender  and 
beautiful.  So,  she  admitted,  her  passion  was  there, 
a  strange  haunting  solicitude  to  fill  each  hour  of  the 
day,  a  dull  urgency  in  the  endless  hours  of  the  night. 

It  is  evidence  of  the  fine  quality  of  Charlotte's 
supreme  unselfishness  that,  for  all  the  pain  of  her 
struggle,  she  did  not  once  falter  in  the  course  she 
had  marked  out  for  herself.  Roger  never  guessed 
her  feelings.  She  made  one  concession  to  her  weak- 
ness and  only  one.  At  the  end  of  the  month  she  de- 
cided to  stay  longer.  So  she  lingered  until  the  moon 
she  had  watched  rise  that  first  night  had  waxed  and 
waned  and  another  had  risen  in  its  place.  Then 
her  summons  came,  a  letter  from  Paddy.  Paddy's 
scrawls  had  come  at  fairly  regular  intervals.  When 
there  had  been  a  lull  of  longer  duration,  Charlotte 
had  been  unaware  of  it.  Paddy  had  written  that 
she  was  happy;  that  was  sufficient.  But  now — it 
was  exactly  the  sort  of  thing  Charlotte  should  have 
expected;  she  had  n't,  however. 

Paddy  had  spent  all  her  money,  it  was  most 
amazing  how  money  did  go,  and  had  been  forced  to 
run  up  a  few  little  bills,  her  object  being  to  spare 
Charlotte  any  unnecessary  worry  during  her  vacation. 


GIBBETED  GODS  205 

And  now  the  trades-gentlemen  were  showing  their 
teeth!  Could  Charlotte  send  her  more  money 7 
Or  was  n't  it  about  time  Charlotte  herself  returned? 
Nature  was  all  right  for  a  setting  or  an  upsetting, 
so  Paddy  wound  up,  "but,  darling  child,  I  should 
think  you  'd  be  bored  to  death  up  there  by  yourself; 
nothing  but  the  mountains  to  gossip  with  and  about." 

Charlotte  got  her  letter  at  breakfast.  She  read 
it,  then  went  out  on  the  terrace  and  sat  down.  In 
her  heart  was  a  slow  resentment,  not  against  Paddy 
in  particular,  but  against  the  world  that  had  broken 
in  upon  her  happiness.  As  her  resentment  grew 
there  grew  also  the  determination  to  keep  that  hap- 
piness unsullied,  apart,  free  of  vulgar  contacts.  It 
was  too  beautiful  to  her,  too  sacred  to  be  reduced  to 
the  acquiescence  of  daily  commonplace.  She  would 
go  away  without  telling  Roger;  she  would  not  leave 
her  address.  She  saw  this  as  sentimental,  the  act  of 
a  romantic  school -girl,  but  she  did  not  care.  She 
wanted  only,  passionately,  blindly,  to  keep  her  dream 
untouched,  her  own. 

Roger  found  her  a  little  later,  very  quiet,  with  a 
deeper  glow  in  her  steady  eyes.  There  was  a  pecul- 
iar wistful  quality  in  that  last  day.  They  said 
very  little,  but  they  had  never  seemed  more  perfectly 
attuned.  A  new  element  of  intentness  had  crept 
into  Roger's  eyes.  Charlotte  had  a  sharp  wonder. 

She  dressed  herself  for  dinner  in  her  loveliest 


206  GIBBETED  GODS 

gown,  a  frothy  lace  thing,  the  color  of  a  fading  gar- 
denia, that  threw  into  striking  relief  her  brilliant  eyes 
and  dark  hair.  The  image  her  glass  gave  back  dis- 
concerted her.  Dinner  was  gay;  she  prolonged  it 
consciously.  Then  they  went  down  to  the  lowest 
terrace  and  seated  themselves  on  a  stone  bench  to 
watch  the  moon.  What  they  said  to  each  other 
mattered  little;  perhaps  they  did  not  talk  at  all. 
Charlotte  remembered  afterward  only  the  beauty  of 
the  scene, — the  shadowy  mountains,  ridge  on  ridge; 
the  pale,  white  wonder  of  the  moon.  They  sat  there 
for  hours  and  hours  with  a  sense  of  magic  unreality. 
Charlotte's  thoughts  settled  to  a  strange  calm.  The 
day  was  over;  it  had  been  exactly  what  she  had 
wanted  it  to  be.  She  was  satisfied.  Yet,  as  she 
tried  to  rouse  herself  to  leave,  the  old  wistfulness 
of  desire  crept  over  her.  She  closed  her  eyes  and 
sighed  a  little.  Then  as  she  opened  them  she  turned 
her  head  to  Roger.  He  was  looking  at  her,  a  smile 
in  his  eyes.  He  bent  forward  and  placed  his  lips 
on  hers  for  one  fleeting  second,  a  strange,  fantastic, 
light  little  kiss,  all  a  part  of  the  spell  of  that  silvery 
night.  They  smiled  at  each  other;  then  Charlotte 
turned  away,  a  surge  of  tears  in  her  heart.  A  second 
later  rising,  she  gave  him  a  cool  and  steady  hand  and 
they  climbed  together  up  the  slope. 

"To-day  has  been  the  best  of  all,"  she  said  simply 
as  they  stood  at  the  door.     He  was  still  holding  her 


GIBBETED  GODS  207 

hand  that  lay  passive  in  his.  She  knew  that  he 
expected  to  come  in;  he  always  came  in  for  one 
last  lingering  cigarette.  He  stood  there  irresolute, 
the  light  in  his  eyes  growing  brighter  and  brighter. 
It  was  the  moment  for  Charlotte's  supreme  sacrifice. 
She  drew  her  hand  from  his. 

"To-morrow,"  she  said  lightly. 

Roger  sighed  unconsciously  as  he  echoed  her  "To- 
morrow !" 

She  turned  and  entered  the  big  door  they  had 
left  open.  She  could  not  trust  herself  to  look  at 
him  again  as  he  stood  there,  the  shadows  in  his  eyes 
still  lifting.  She  brought  the  door  to  with  a  bang  of 
dismal  finality.  But  she  laughed  and  called  out 
a  cheerful  goodnight  through  the  casement.  Then, 
turning,  she  rushed  hastily  upstairs  to  her  own  room, 
where  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  at  the  window. 
Yes,  there  he  was,  a  slim  figure  against  the  moon- 
light !  He  had  hesitated  a  second.  His  eyes  swept 
the  glorious  scene  spread  out  before  him,  then  came 
back  with  sudden  intentness  to  the  house.  Charlotte 
was  crying  softly  now;  she  tried  to  check  herself  lest 
he  should  hear.  A  minute  later,  he  turned  and 
walked  away  toward  the  woods.  As  their  shadows 
enveloped  him,  Charlotte  gave  one  long  hard  sob, 
then  broke  to  an  unrestrained  weeping. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IT  was  to  a  distinctly  unbeautiful  reality  that 
Charlotte  was  destined  to  awake,  the  reality  of 
financial  stress.  Paddy  had  become  hopelessly  in- 
volved in  her  six  weeks  of  freedom.  Some  of  the 
old  shopkeepers  had  been  won  to  fresh  credit,  new 
ones  sought  out  and  cajoled.  There  were  even, 
most  surprising  of  all,  cash  advancements.  The 
awnings  had  been  sent  back  as  unsatisfactory,  the 
money  paid  on  them  claimed  and  spent.  Charlotte 
was  desperate.  The  week  following  her  return  was 
a  week  of  intolerable  mortification  and  unpleasant 
argument.  She  did  n't  have  the  money,  that  was 
all  there  was  to  it,  so  her  creditors  at  last  consented 
with  grumbling  reluctance  to  give  her  time.  The 
first  of  July,  no  later!  She  won  her  point  at  the 
expense  of  pride.  She  ignored  Paddy  during  all  her 
negotiations.  She  could  not  bring  herself  to  le- 
niency, but,  on  the  other  hand,  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  anger.  Paddy  looked  ill  and  was  a 
ghastly  color. 

Charlotte  had  had  some  vague  plan  of  saving  out 

of  her  next  quarterly  enough  to  take  her  and  Paddy 

208 


GIBBETED  GODS  209 

to  some  cheap  watering-place  for  part  of  the  summer 
at  least.  Now,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  stay 
where  they  were,  to  endure  the  long  drag*  of  hot 
weeks  as  best  they  could.  Those  first  days  in  the 
dirty,  stuffy  little  studio  were  perhaps  the  worst  for 
Charlotte.  The  blinding  glare  of  the  afternoon 
sun  as  it  poured  in  upon  them  made  her  feel  sick 
and  weak.  The  place  was  in  fearful  condition,  so, 
for  all  the  heat,  she  got  to  work.  Perhaps,  when 
a  little  order  had  been  brought  out  of  the  confusion, 
she  might  adapt  herself  with  less  protest.  She  swept 
the  rugs  and  scrubbed  the  paint.  She  cleaned  out 
the  kitchenette  and  sent  off  the  laundry,  neglected 
for  weeks.  The  heat  continued  day  after  day. 
Charlotte  had  never  been  in  a  city  during  the  warm 
weather  and  had  no  idea  what  she  was  in  for.  Air, 
some  pure  air, — it  was  that  she  wanted,  but  how  to 
get  it?  It  was  too  hot  to  walk  on  the  steaming 
asphalt;  the  herds  of  waiting  people  roped  off  in 
the  park  made  an  attempt  at  a  'bus  ride  a  farce. 
Once  or  twice  she  made  a  despairing  effort  to  get  to 
a  beach,  only  to  turn  around  at  the  crowded  railway 
station  and  come  home.  Dolly  was  in  Newport, 
so  not  one  vision  of  green  things  was  permitted  her, 
not  one  breath  of  sweet-smelling  air.  She  became 
apathetic,  lost  even  her  ambition  to  keep  the  studio 
in  condition,  so  let  it  go.  She  gave  up  her  painting; 
the  smell  of  the  paint  nauseated  her.  She  touched 


210  GIBBETED  GODS 

scarcely  any  food.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
lie  back,  panting,  and  wait  till  the  heat  had  spent 
itself.  And  all  the  while  the  noise  of  children's 
voices  outside, — querulous,  complaining, — and  the 
smell  of  decaying  fruit!  Occasionally  a  hurdy- 
gurdy  would  strike  up.  And  Paddy  chattered  on 
and  on. 

Poor  Charlotte!  Everything  pointed  so  cruelly 
the  truth  she  already  knew  too  well.  Paddy  was  her 
life;  to  Paddy  and  the  shoddy  reality  of  their  exist- 
ence together  must  her  every  dream  be  sacrificed. 
But,  even  had  Paddy  not  been  there,  the  stark  fact 
of  poverty  would  have  presented  itself  to  be  reckoned 
with.  Charlotte  knew  that  Roger  had  no  money  and 
guessed  shrewdly  his  lack  of  practical  insight.  What 
would  their  dream  have  come  to,  caught  in  circum- 
stances like  this*?  How  could  their  love  have  sur- 
vived, with  every  generous  instinct  bruised  and 
crushed,  each  inspiration  doomed  to  perish  miser- 
ably*? Canned  goods  and  the  flies  and  the  hot  sun ! 

Very  often  Charlotte  would  get  up  in  the  night 
to  sit  by  the  window,  where  occasionally  a  breath 
of  air  would  reach  her.  At  such  times  the  bitterness 
of  her  thoughts  would  give  place  to  a  sad,  wistful 
sort  of  happiness.  She  would  go  over  slowly  and! 
with  a  great  tenderness  each  detail  of  the  weeks  she 
and  Roger  had  spent  together.  Shie  thought  of  his 
eyes,  the  whimsical  little  kiss.  She  thought  of  him 


GIBBETED  GODS  21 L 

at  his  work.  It  was  then,  as  she  visualized  him  at 
his  easel,  that  she  could  find  a  certain  joy  in  her 
renunciation.  And  if — if  it  should  be  that  some 
day  she  was  to  see  Roger  again,  she  would  go  on 
as  she  had  begun.  She  would  protect  him  in  his 
work,  and  in  the  achievement  of  his  higher  vision 
she  would  find  just  compensation  for  her  sacrifice. 

Strangely  enough,  Paddy  was  perfectly  uncon- 
scious of  the  struggle  through  which  Charlotte  passed 
that  summer.  Paddy,  herself,  had  a  beautiful  time; 
the  heat  seemed  to  bother  her  not  at  all.  She  played 
solitaire  for  hours  at  a  stretch  with  two  packs  of 
unspeakably  dirty  cards.  One  pack  was  for  herself, 
the  other  for  Boule  de  Suif,  who  sat  up  on  the  table 
opposite,  head  on  one  side,  paw  raised  reflectively. 
Fortunes  were  made  and  lost  recklessly,  and  once  or 
twice  Boule  de  Suif  was  caught  cheating. 

Then  Paddy  read  exhaustively.  She  had  discov- 
ered a  little  library  near  by;  the  librarian,  a  fascina- 
ting man,  allowed  her  carte  blanche.  The  hotter  the 
day,  the  greater  the  number  of  tomes  Paddy  lugged 
home.  French,  Italian,  Spanish, — a  brilliant  array ! 
Charlotte  had  even  surprised  a  book  in  Yiddish  one 
day. 

"Do  you  read  Yiddish,  Paddy?"  she  asked  in 
dry  amusement. 

"Of  course !"  answered  Paddy  with  a  fine  hauteur, 
and  sat  down  for  an  hour  with  the  great  heavy 


212  GIBBETED  GODS 

thing  in  her  trembling  hands  to  prove  her  point. 

She  was  constantly  reading  Italian  and  French 
aloud  to  Charlotte  lest  she  lose  her  accent.  And  as 
for  poetry, — to  make  Charlotte  spot  random  couplets 
seemed  to  Paddy  the  ideal  sport  for  a  hot  afternoon. 

Then  one  day  in  August,  a  little  sultrier  than  any 
clay  yet,  Charlotte  received  a  letter  from  Dolly,  a 
cool,  fragrant  missive  that  seemed  out  of  place  in 
the  stifling  room.  Dolly  wanted  her  portrait  painted 
and  her  father  had  suggested  Charlotte  for  the  com- 
mission. Could  Charlotte  come  to  them  in  Sep- 
tember at  Laurence  Park*?  At  any  other  time  a 
line  from  Dolly  would  have  been  a  happy  diversion. 
But  now,  this  offer  seemed  the  last  mockery  of  her 
need.  Money!  The  money  Dolly  squandered  in 
one  day  would  have  insured  Charlotte  her  life's  hap- 
piness. 

She  sat  there,  brooding  miserably.  The  letter 
slipped  to  the  floor;  Paddy  picked  it  up  and  read  it. 

"You'll   do   it,   of  course!"    she  chirped  gaily. 

Charlotte  resented  this. 

"I  'm  not  so  sure,"  she  said  sullenly. 

"Of  course,  you  could  charge  an  outrageous  price," 
Paddy  said  persuasively.  "Buchanan  would  n't 
care.  Besides,  you  'd  meet  a  lot  of  people  out 
there." 

"I  don't  want  to  meet  people,"  Charlotte  said 
sharply. 


GIBBETED  GODS  213 

Paddy  nodded  her  head  sagely. 

"Darling  child,  there 's  no  need  of  dodging  facts 
just  because  it  happens  to  be  a  hot  day.  You  've 
got  to  marry — " 

Charlotte's  anger  flared,  only  to  die  out  on  the 
instant  to  a  weary  despair. 

"Don't  let 's  talk  about  that  now,  Paddy,"  she 
said  with  a  sigh.  "Have  we  anything  cold  to 
drink?" 

Paddy  was  diverted  on  the  instant.  There  had 
been  tea  left  over  from  lunch,  but  it  was  now  discov- 
ered that  all  the  ice  was  melted.  Then  Paddy 
broke  a  glass  and  Charlotte  scolded  her  irritably. 

Charlotte  started  at  last  to  get  up  and  change  her 
dress  for  the  afternoon.  She  wanted  to  take  a  bath, 
but  the  litter  of  dishes  waiting  to  be  washed  in  the 
bath-room  discouraged  her.  So  she  sank  back  into 
her  chair.  After  all,  why  change?  It  seemed  a 
farce  to  keep  up  appearances  in  that  dirty  little  place. 

Paddy  had  picked  up  an  "Antony  and  Cleopatra" 
now  and  was  making  herself  altogether  ridiculous. 
She  always  reacted  to  Charlotte's  low  spirits  in  just 
this  way.  She  skipped  about  here  and  there,  her 
voice  militant  or  amorous  to  suit  the  passage. 

"Die  were  thou  hast  lived; 
Quicken  with  kissing;  had  my  lips  that  power, 
Thus  would  I  wear  them  out." 


214  GIBBETED  GODS 

There  was  a  pause.  Paddy  shook  her  head  re- 
flectively. "I  wonder,"  she  mused,  "if  there  was 
anything  wrong  between  Antony  and  Cleopatra." 

Then  she  fell  upon  the  drunken  scene.  As 
Charlotte's  eyes  were  closed,  she  directed  her  histri- 
onic efforts  in  the  direction  of  Boule  de  Suif. 

"  'What  manner  o'  thing  is  your  crocodile*?  It  is 
shaped,  sir,  like  itself,  and  it  is  itself;  it  is  broad 
as  it  hath  breadth;  it  is  just  so  high  as  it  is,  and 
moves  with  its  own  organs;  it  lives  by  that  which 
nourisheth  it,  and  the  elements  once  out  of  it,  it 
transmigrates.  Of  its  own  color,  too !  'T  is  a 
strange  serpent  and  the  tears  of  it  are  wet!' ' 

At  this  point  Paddy's  mirth  burst  into  shrill  hi- 
larity, whereupon  Boule  de  Suif  turned  a  frisky 
somersault.  Charlotte  could  stand  it  no  longer. 
She  rose  abruptly,  with  some  idea  of  going  out  into 
the  park.  The  bell  rang.  One  of  the  endless  pro- 
cession of  delivery  boys,  she  told  herself.  She 
touched  the  bell-click,  then,  just  for  something  to 
do,  she  went  out  wearily  to  the  top  of  the  stairs. 
The  echo  of  a  voice  in  parley  with  the  janitor,  a  slen- 
der hand  on  the  balustrade  below,  and  Char- 
lotte started  back  in  a  panic  of  dismay.  Roger  !k 
The  dirty  little  studio,  herself,  Paddy!  Confused, 
she  rushed  back  to  her  door,  only  to  return  to  the 


GIBBETED  GODS  215 

head  of  the  stairs,  where  she  stood  trembling,  almost 
crying.  The  vision  of  that  last  beautiful  night 
flashed  clear.  The  thing  was  cruel,  cruel.  Roger 
had  already  come  up  two  flights,  the  crazy  stairs 
creaking  at  his  every  step.  Charlotte  drew  a  long, 
deep  breath  that  shivered  through  her  like  a  sob. 
Then  she  stood,  quite  ready  and  calm.  Roger  had 
turned  and  was  starting  up  the  last  flight  now. 

"Ah !"  his  face  brightened  as  he  saw  her.  "I  am 
so  glad !  I  was  afraid  you  might  be  out  of  town,  in 
this  heat,  you  know — " 

"It  is  hot,"  Charlotte  said  as  they  shook  hands. 

"I  got  your  address  at  the  League  office,"  he  ex- 
plained. "You  forgot  to  leave  it  in  your  note — I 
am  in  town  for  the  day  on  business — " 

"You  must  come  in  and  meet  my  mother." 
Charlotte's  voice  was  hard. 

She  led  him  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open.  "This 
is  my  mother,"  she  said.  "And  Paddy,  this  is  Mr. 
Canby,  a  student  at  the  League — " 

If  the  thing  was  unfair  to  Charlotte,  it  was  equally 
unfair  to  Roger.  He  stood  there  for  a  second  in 
the  blaze  of  light  and  in  his  eyes  was  an  unmis- 
takable astonishment.  Charlotte  went  to  the 
windows,  attempting  to  pull  down  the  flapping 
shades,  to  soften  the  glare.  Roger  collected  him- 
self in  a  second  and  shook  hands  with  Paddy, — 
Paddy  with  her  wispy  hair  all  about  her,  her  untidy 


216  GIBBETED  GODS 

'dress  pinned  at  the  neck  with  a  safety-pin.  Paddy 
looked  at  him  shrewdly,  nodded,  then  introduced 
Boule  de  Suif  in  all  seriousness. 

"She  is  shaped,  sir,  like  herself,"  she  proceeded 
in  mock  earnestness.  "She  moves  with  her  own 
organs;  she  lives  by  that  which  nourisheth  her  and 
the  elements  once  out  of  her — " 

Charlotte  made  no  explanation ;  she  made  no  apol- 
ogy. She  knew  Roger  was  perfectly  justified  in  his 
astonishment,  but  she  resented  it,  nevertheless,  re- 
sented it  hotly.  The  smile  on  her  face  hardened. 
Instantly  the  aggressive  side  of  her  that  had  asserted 
itself  to  protect  Paddy  on  that  eventful  visit  of  the 
Comtesse  de  Ferraud  asserted  itself  now,  but  this 
time  to  protect  herself.  She  struck  a  cynical  note 
and  prolonged  it,  quite  at  her  ease.  She  flaunted 
herself,  worldly,  sophisticated,  destructive.  Roger 
was  at  a  loss  and1  showed  to  little  advantage.  He 
had  come  to  seek  Charlotte  out  in  a  frankly  admitted 
eagerness;  perhaps,  after  all,  business  had  been  but 
an  excuse.  He  had  not  defined  to  himself  what  he 
haH  expected;  he  knew  only  that  he  wanted  to  see 
her  again.  His  spirits  flagged  the  minute  he  entered1 
the  room.  He  was  bewildered,  depressed,  face 
to  face  with  something  he  could  not  understand. 
Small  wonder,  then,  he  had  little  to  say  and  floun- 
dered hopelessly.  Paddy  saw  his  weakness,  jumped 
in  and  poked  fun  at  him,  exposing  his  every  remark 


GIBBETED  GODS  217 

to  ridicule.  Boule  de  Suif  took  the  cue  and  was  pert 
and  objectionable.  Paddy  very  elaborately  present- 
ed them  all  with  some  tepid  tea.  Roger  stirred  his 
vaguely,  and  ever  and  again  he  came  back  to  the  days 
he  and  Charlotte,  had  spent  together  in  the  moun- 
tains. Paddy  wagged  her  head  and  drew  him  on. 
And  once  he  intercepted  a  cunning  wink  Paddy  had: 
meant  for  Charlotte. 

Oh,  it  was  a  disaster,  hot,  muddled,  tragic! 
Roger  rose  at  last. 

"I  am  coming  back  the  first  of  October,"  he  said 
in  a  limp  voice.  "I  have  taken  a  studio  on  the  south 
side  of  the  Square." 

"We  shall  be  neighbors,"  Charlotte  said  evenly. 
"That  will  be  very  nice." 

He  had  taken  her  hand  as  he  said  good-by,  but 
his  eyes  rested  on  Paddy. 

Then  in  casual  small  talk  they  had  gone  out  to  the 
stairs.  The  janitress  was  doing  some  belated 
scrubbing.  Roger  stepped  over  a  pail  and  a  mop. 
Charlotte  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  watched 
him.  At  the  foot  of  the  first  flight  he  looked  up  and 
smiled  at  her  vaguely.  She  waved;  then,  turning, 
she  made  her  way  slowly  back  to  the  room.  Paddy 
was  waiting  for  her,  with  arms  akimbo  and  a  crafty 
look  in  her  eyes.  She  wagged  her  head. 

"How  long,  pray,"  she  asked  with  mock  severity, 
"has  this  illicit  thing  been  going  on?" 


218  GIBBETED  GODS 

Charlotte  stood  trembling  for  a  minute.  Then, 
breaking  into  harsh  sobs,  she  threw  herself  on  the 
couch  and  buried  her  face  in  the  dirty  pillows. 

Paddy  and  Boule  de  Suif  exchanged  a  glance  with 
a  world  of  wicked  wisdom  in  it. 

"'T  is  a  strange  creature,"  muttered  Paddy,  "and 
the  tears  of  it  are  wet." 

Two  weeks  later  Roger  made  another  trip  to 
the  city.  Again  on  the  pretext  of  business,  but  in 
reality  to  make  amends  to  Charlotte  for  his  be- 
having on  the  previous  visit.  He  had  betrayed 
with  a  boorish  stupidity  his  dismay  at  her  surround- 
ings, his  instinctive  dislike  of  her  mother,  and  he 
hated  himself  for  it.  But  his  uneasy  restlessness 
had  its  root  in  a  thing  of  deeper  significance  than 
mortification.  Roger's  feeling  for  Charlotte  had 
been  of  a  steady  growth  during  the  summer  weeks, 
although  he  himself  had  not  realized  it.  He  had 
thought  of  her  continually,  her  charm,  her  frank- 
ness, her  fine  beliefs;  and  he  had  visualized  her  al- 
ways as  she  had  been  that  last  night  in  her  gossamer 
dress  of  lovely  lace,  with  a  soft  glow  in  her  eyes. 
And  now!  But,  after  the  brunt  of  the  first  shock 
had  been  sustained,  it  was  not  the  externals  that 
^troubled  him — the  soiled  smock,  the  tumbled  hair — 
but  the  tragedy  he  had  sensed  in  her  eyes.  Yes, 
tragedy  of  some  sort  was  there,  and  sacrifice.  It  was 
Roger's  first  contact  with  a-world  complicated  by  sor- 


GIBBETED  GODS  219 

did  problems.  He  guessed  the  truth  about  Paddy, 
and  his  feeling  for  Charlotte,  that  had  been  up  to 
now  so  simple  and  natural,  became  suddenly  all  a 
confused  urgency. 

Roger  had  been  careful  to  telephone  Charlotte 
before  he  called;  that  seemed  only  fair  in  the  cir- 
cumstances. It  was  part  of  her  bravado  that  she 
met  him  with,  "But  why  should  you  telephone"? 
Drop  in  any  time."  Part  of  her  bravado,  too,  that 
she  should  leave  the  dust  in  the  studio  undisturbed, 
and  should  don  the  same  dirty  smock.  That  sense 
of  a  beautiful  thing  spoiled  forever  had  forced  her 
to  the  hard  acceptance  of  him  on  practical  grounds. 
She  made  of  their  meeting  a  casual  thing.  Roger 
had  brought  Paddy  some  flowers,  and  exerted  him- 
self to  be  nice  to  her.  However,  no  amount  of 
careful  pretense  could  hide  his  real  feelings  from 
Charlotte,  and  again  she  felt  the  dull  ache  of  resent- 
ment. 

They  confined  their  talk  almost  entirely  to 
business.  Roger  had  obtained  through  the  League 
some  advertising  commissions,  sufficiently  lucrative, 
he  hoped,  to  keep  him  going.  His  mornings,  how- 
ever, he  was  planning  to  keep  for  his  real  painting. 
He  was  optimistic  of  outlook;  the  scheme  should 
work  very  well.  Charlotte  asked  him  about  his 
studio.  It  was  big  and  barn-like,  he  said,  but  he 
did  n't  care.  Paddy  brought  him  down  to  details. 


220  GIBBETED  GODS 

Was  it  heated?  Roger  did  n't  think  it  was,  much, 
but  the  janitor  had  spoken  in  all  cheerfulness  of  oil- 
stoves. 

Paddy  nodded  sagely.  "Have  you  ever  been 
really  cold1?"  she  pressed. 

Roger  admitted  he  never  had,  but  when  he  paint- 
ed nothing  else  mattered. 

Paddy  shook  her  head. 

"Don't  plan  on  much  inspiration,"  she  said  ma- 
liciously, "if  you  have  to  sit  there  with  your  fingers 
numb  and  an  overcoat  on." 

The  picture  evoked  by  Paddy  was  not  a  cheerful 
one.  Roger  stared  at  it  a  minute  with  knitted 
brows.  As  Charlotte  watched  in  his  eyes  the  chill- 
ing of  his  bright  courage,  her  resentment  against 
him  gave  place  to  a  quick  sympathy.  The  peculiar 
quality  of  Paddy's  blight  she,  herself,  knew  only 
too  well.  She  smiled  at  him  and  for  the  first  time 
the  hard  glint  in  her  eyes  softened  to  the  old  frank 
tenderness. 

"Paddy  does  n't  know  your  work,  Roger,  as  I 
do,"  she  said.  "I  can  see  you  doing  big  things  even 
in  an  adobe  hut." 

He  looked  at  her  gratefully.  They  were  back 
now  on  their  former  grounds  of  understanding, 
and  both  felt  a  sudden  exhilaration.  In  the  sudden 
perception  of  Roger,  too,  as  struggling  with  the 
everyday  problems  of  existence  Charlotte  had  seen 


GIBBETED  GODS  221 

her  way  to  the  making  of  a  solid  friendship  out  of 
the  shattered  bits  of  her  dream. 

The  conversation  went  at  a  quicker  tempo  after 
that.  Charlotte  told  Roger  of  her  commission  to 
paint  a  friend. 

"I  'm  to  spend  September  at  their  Long  Island 
home.  Dolly  Laurence !  We  've  been  friends  from 
childhood.  It  will  be  wonderful  to  get  away  from 
this  heat.  I  wish  that  Paddy  might  go,  too — " 

Paddy  said  the  heat  never  bothered  her.  As  wit- 
ness of  this  last  fact  she  pulled  her  old  black  shawl 
more  tightly  about  her  shoulders  and  proceeded  to 
serve  the  hottest  possible  tea.  The  closeness  of  the 
room  was  almost  unbearable  as  they  sat  there. 

Then,  suddenly,  there  was  a  gentle  tap  at  the 
slightly  open  door  and  Dolly  pushed  her  way  in,  most 
unexpected  of  apparitions.  A  lovely  cool  little 
figure,  in  a  filmy  white  gown  with  a  shimmery  white 
plume  in  her  hat.  A  touch  of  the  freshest  blue  here 
and  there  brought  out  the  loveliness  of  her  eyes ;  the 
pearls  about  her  neck  matched  the  creamy  whiteness 
of  her  skin.  She  stood  there,  faultless,  fragile, 
expensive,  the  finished  product  of  a  plutocratic  tra- 
dition. As  she  murmured  of  the  janitor  letting  her 
come  right  up  without  ringing,  her  wide  eyes  had 
taken  in  Roger  with  'a  naive  appraisal  of  his  good 
looks. 

"We  were  just  talking  of  you,  Dolly,"  Charlotte 


222  GIBBETED  GODS 

remarked  after  the  introduction  was  achieved. 
"Mr.  Canby  is  a  painter,  too.  I  was  telling  him 
about  your  portrait — " 

Roger  turned  smiling,  and  studied  Dolly  with  an 
eye  to  portrait  points.  Dolly  took  his  scrutiny 
with  a  self-conscious  satisfaction. 

"Tea?"  pressed  Paddy.     "Nice  and  hot !" 

Dolly  shook  her  head.  "No,  thank  you.  I  've 
just  come  from  Sherry's."  Her  eyes  took  in  the  dis- 
order of  the  room.  She  began  to  fan  herself,  then 
looked  at  her  watch. 

"I  have  only  a  minute,"  she  said.  "I  came  down 
from  Newport  with  father  last  night  on  the  yacht. 
I  had  a  few  errands  to  do  in  town.  We  're  going 
back  this  afternoon.  What  I  wanted  to  tell  you, 
Charlotte,  was  that  Uncle  Henry  had  a  wire  from 
Cass  yesterday.  He  and  Phil  had  just  landed  in  San 
Francisco.  So  I  'm  having  everybody  for  Sep- 
tember. We  ought  to  have  a  gay  time." 

Charlotte  demurred. 

"Oh,  Dolly,  I  'd  rather  not!  How  can  I  paint  if 
there  are  to  be  so  many  people*?" 

But  Dolly  was  n't  listening.  She  had  turned  to 
Roger,  and  was  explaining. 

"We  were  all  in  Paris  together.  Let 's  see,  when 
was  it,  Charlotte4?" 

"Two  years  ago!"  answered  Charlotte,  with  a 
certain  restraint. 


GIBBETED  GODS  223 

"  As  much  as  that?"  queried  Dolly.  "It  does  n't 
seem  possible.  So  little  has  happened  since — " 

"As  to  that,"  put  in  Paddy,  "nothing  ever  happens 
in  this  life,  Dolly.  What  made  you  think  things 
did?' 

Dolly  did  n't  meet  this.     She  rose. 

"  Then  I  '11  count  on  you,  Charlotte." 

"Yes,"  answered  Charlotte,  a  little  wearily. 

Dolly  turned  to  Roger. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Canby  would  join  us!"  she  sug- 
gested. 

"I'm  afraid  not!"  Roger  put  in  quickly.  The 
thing  was  too  informally  done  to  suit  him. 

But  Charlotte  had  a  quick  inspiration.  The  unex- 
pected resentment  she  had  felt  at  Dolly's  cool 
presence  gave  way  suddenly  and  she  saw  her  as  the 
good  fairy  with  magic  wand  of  light.  A  month  at 
Laurence  Park  with  Roger !  A  month  to  work  out 
her  new  vision  of  friendship !  It  came  as  a  blessed 
answer  to  her  need.  She  turned  to  him  impul- 
sively. 

"Could  n't  you  possibly  make  it?"  she  asked,  an 
intense  earnestness  in  her  eyes.  "We  could  paint 
together — " 

Ah,  that  was  different!     Roger  looked  at  Dolly. 

"Oh,  if  you  will  let  me  paint — " 

The  thing  was  settled  in  a  minute,  details  ar- 
ranged. Dolly  showed  her  pleasure  ingenuously. 


224  GIBBETED  GODS 

"May  I  take  you  where  you  are  going,  Mr. 
Canby?"  she  asked.  "My  car  is  downstairs." 

"That  will  be  splendid,"  Charlotte  answered  for 
him  as  he  again  hesitated.  They  went  out  into  the 
hall. 

Dolly  gave  Charlotte  a  light,  fragrant  little  kiss. 
Roger  took  her  hand  and  held  it  an  imperceptible 
second,  as  they  smiled  at  each  other.  That  was 
all,  but  Charlotte  went  back  into  the  studio  with  a 
glow  in  her  eyes  and  the  sense  of  a  happiness  re- 
newed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SHORTLY  after  his  arrival  in  New  York  the 
following  week  Philip  came  to  the  little  studio 
to  see  Paddy.  Instantly  the  old  animosity  between 
brother  and  sister  flared  anew.  Philip  was 
heavier,  more  sullen,  and  looked  distinctly  the  worse 
for  dissipation.  He  was  scandalized  at  the  con- 
ditions under  which  he  found  them  living  and 
sneered  at  Charlotte  for  her  lack  of  spirit.  The 
change  in  Paddy  he  resented  hotly,  blamed 
Charlotte  for  that,  too ! 

"Good  God!"  he  cried.  "She  looks  like  any  old 
tenement  drudge!  Why  don't  you  look  out  for 
her?" 

Charlotte's  fine  scorn  of  Philip  and  everything 
he  stood  for  was  her  best  line  of  defense.  For  the 
most  part  she  went  out  whenever  he  arrived  and  left 
him  with  Paddy.  She  had  a  vague  idea  that  the 
two  of  them  were  hatching  up  some  nefarious  scheme. 
What,  she  did  not  know.  But,  as  to'  that,  she  did 
not  care.  Even  the  shadow  of  Philip's  presence 
was  not  sufficient  to  dim  the  bright  outlook  of  that 

September  party.     Charlotte's  thoughts  were  all  a 

225 


226  GIBBETED  GODS 

happy,  confused  anticipation.  Then,  before  she 
realized  it,  September  was  upon  them  and  the  house- 
party  was  in  full  swing. 

There  was  gathered  together  at  Laurence  Park 
a  diversity  of  people.  Philip,  Cassimir,  Tony 
Welch,  several  of  Newport's  younger  matrons,  two 
or  three  attaches,  a  Russian  Prince,  a  few  of  Buchan- 
an's own  intimates.  Charlotte,  and  Roger.  Fortu- 
nately the  Laurence  establishment  was  run  on  a  suf- 
ficiently large  scale  not  to  require  the  welding  of 
tastes  and  codes.  The  guests  were  as  independent 
of  one  another  as  if  they  had  been  in  a  New  York 
hotel.  They  did  as  they  pleased, — rode,  drove, 
slept,  played  cards,  or  made  love,  each  man  to  his 
whim.  The  Park  lent  itself  to  anything.  It 
was  a  beautiful  place,  the  house  a  massive  pile  of 
gray  stone  with  extravagant  terraces  and  sunken 
gardens.  A  view  of  the  Sound  was  permitted  at  the 
front,  through  the  artfully  arranged  screen  of  shrubs 
and  trees;  at  the  back  were  parks  and  woods,  ex- 
tensive enough  to  afford  a  jolly  run  with  the  pack. 
The  tan-bark  ring  was  one  of  the  finest  in  the  coun- 
try; the  stables,  the  cowbarns,  the  kennels,  the  ga- 
rages were  a  village  in  themselves.  The  whole  thing 
was  gigantic,  stupendous.  Small  wonder,  then,  the 
guests  felt  themselves  in  no  way  bound  by  the  con- 
ventions that  govern  the  average  household.  Re- 
sponsibility simply  did  not  exist  at  Laurence  Park. 


GIBBETED  GODS  227 

Dolly's  sittings  for  Charlotte  were  few  and  far 
between.  Charlotte  could  never  arrange  for  defi- 
nite appointments,  so  was  forced  to  content  herself 
with  a  sort  of  general  study  of  expression,  and  a 
painting  from  memory.  She  loved  the  picture,  how- 
ever, as  it  grew  under  her  brush,  and  confided  to 
Roger  that  this  was  one  picture  she  really  hoped  to 
finish. 

"This  is  to  be  my  chef  d'  oeuvre,"  she  told  him, 
and  believed  it. 

Those  were  wonderful  days  for  Roger  and 
Charlotte,  when,  taking  their  easels,  they  sought 
out  some  sequestered  spot  and  gave  themselves  up 
to  the  bright  enthusiasm  of  their  work  and  each  other. 
Roger  was  enchanted  at  everything.  Laurence 
Park  opened  up  a  new  world  to  him ;  he  never  ceased 
to  marvel  at  its  exquisiteness  of  detail,  the  harmony 
of  its  perfect  whole.  So  many  vistas  there  were  to 
invite  the  eye  with  tantalizing  suggestion  that 
eventually  Roger  left  the  selection  to  Charlotte. 
She  chose  his  point  of  view;  then  he  set  to  work 
with  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes.  Roger's  love 
of  the  beautiful  seemed  the  very  fibre  of  his  being. 
Charlotte  watched  him  with  a  certain  quiet  of  resig- 
nation. No,  Roger  was  not  meant  for  sordid  en- 
tanglements, the  irk  of  the  practical.  And  the 
dingy  little  studio  with  its  note  of  sinister  tragedy 
flashed  across  her  mind  ever  and  again  and  helped 


228  GIBBETED  GODS 

her  to  sustain  her  attitude  of  a  detached  friendship. 

Then,  too,  the  other  people  in  the  party  did 
exist, — in  a  remote  sort  of  way  of  course,  but  even 
so  they  constituted  a  contact.  It  was  extreme 
isolation  that  was  dangerous.  When  the  guests 
were  all  foregathered,  Charlotte  exerted  herself  as 
she  had  in  the  old  Paris  days,  to  dominate  the 
company.  She  had  little  opposition,  for  the  other 
women  in  the  party  were  singularly  amorphous.  It 
was  at  dinner  that  Charlotte  always  shone  her 
brightest.  She  loved  the  long  table,  the  flowers  and 
soft  lights,  the  hum  of  voices,  the  eager  eyes. 
There  was  something  about  it  all  that  made  her 
reckless,  that  drove  her  on  to  score  at  any  cost.  She 
was  vivid  and  forceful ;  destructive,  too,  for  the  most 
part.  She  attacked  everything, — the  theater,  cur- 
rent fiction,  convention,  and,  most  drastically  of  all, 
the  moneyed  class.  She  declared  herself  a  radical, 
a  socialist,  and  stuck  to  it.  Buchanan  and  his 
friends  delighted  in  her  every  word  and  reacted  to 
her  energetic  attacks  with  an  uproarious  admiration. 

"Of  course,  I  represent  the  laboring  man,"  she 
announced  decisively.  "Money!  I  hate  it!  I 
hate  its  power.  But  I  want  it;  oh,  yes,  I  want  it!" 
Her  inconsistencies  were  not  the  least  of  her  charm. 
A  handsome  acquisition  to  any  dinner-table  she  was . 

Philip  watched  her  with  a  growing  resentment  that 
she  had  not  used  her  ability  to  greater  advantage. 


GIBBETED  GODS  229 

For  the  most  part,  however,  Philip  was  too  busy 
with  Dolly  to  think  of  anything  else. 

Roger  studied  Charlotte  in  this  new  phase  with  a 
quiet  intentness,  but  he  seemed  not  at  all  disturbed. 

He  put  it  to  her,  laughing,  one  day  as  they  sat 
painting:  "You  hide  your  real  self  so  cleverly; 
you  might  almost  convince  me  with  time." 

"My  real  self!"  she  repeated  with  knitted  brows. 
She  saw  her  cue  for  future  emergencies.  "Which  is 
my  real  self?  I  often  wonder.  It  is  all  right  to  be 
simple  and  believing  when  there  's  nothing  at  stake, 
but  in  a  big  issue  I  'm  afraid  the  idealist  in  me 
would  go  down  before  the  practical — " 

"What  do  you  call  a  big  issue?"  he  asked. 

She  held  her  breath  for  a  moment.  Then, 
"Marriage,"  she  brought  out. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  he  said  with  simple  conviction. 
She  could  not  trust  herself  to  argue  that.  She  bent 
to  her  painting,  asked  him  in  a  minute  for  advice. 
"The  eyes?  They  lack  something.  Dolly's  are 
so  beautiful." 

They  talked  of  Dolly  occasionally.  Dolly  was 
to  Roger  but  one  of  the  exquisite  details  of  the 
wonderful  estate.  He  took  her  as  he  would  have 
taken  a  statue  on  the  terrace  or  one  of  the  birds  in 
the  aviary. 

"Dolly  is  so  simple  and  pure  and  good,"  Charlotte 
sighed  one  day.  "I  am  so  the  opposite." 


230  GIBBETED  GODS 

This  was  following  a  night  when  Charlotte  hacl 
showed  herself  a  little  more  daring  than  usual  at 
dinner,  a  little  more  hardly  sophisticated. 

Roger  stopped  painting  and  looked  at  her.  "If 
you  are  determined  to  convince  yourself  of  that, 
Charlotte,  you  are  on  the  right  track." 

The  words  held  a  decided  rebuke,  but  there  was 
a  certain  pain  in  his  eyes  that  softened  the  harshness 
of  it. 

Charlotte  bent  her  head.  "Oh  if  I  could  convince 
myself,"  she  said  in  a  low,  passionate  voice,  "it 
would  be  much  easier  for  me!" 

It  was  upon  Roger's  vision  now  there  flashed  the 
image  of  the  little  studio,  the  image  of  Paddy.  He 
found  nothing  to  say;  he  could  only  turn  back  to 
his  work  with  the  old  sense  of  an  underlying  tragedy 
which  he  did  not  understand. 

It  was  perhaps  this  that  made  him  unusually 
thoughtful  and  tender  of  Charlotte  for  the  rest  of 
the  day.  That  night  after  dinner  he  suggested  a 
walk  to  the  bathing  pavilion.  The  pavilion  was  a 
replica  of  a  small  Greek  temple  with  pillared  portico, 
a  shining  thing  of  mysterious  loveliness  as  they 
wandered  toward  it  in  the  moonlight.  They  seated 
themselves  in  the  portico  on  a  marble  bench  and 
looked  out  at  the  gleaming  stretch  of  water,  cut  only 
by  the  definite  white  pillars  that  rose  in  front  of 
them.  Charlotte  felt  her  senses  pervaded  by  the  soft 


GIBBETED  GODS  231 

beauty  of  it  all.  She  closed  her  eyes,  and  again  there 
was  that  swift  surge  of  tears  about  her  heart. 

The  two  sat  there  for  an  hour.  Then  Charlotte 
rose  abruptly,  and  to  his  questioning  pleaded  fatigue. 

"I  must  get  to  bed  early,"  she  said.  "I  have  been 
feeling  tired  to-day."  He  was  solicitous.  He  took 
her  arm  and  slipped  it  through  his;  the  palm  of  her 
hand  rested  on  the  palm  of  his;  his  fingers  closed 
over  hers  quite  simply  and  naturally.  So  they  made 
their  way  back  to  the  house,  up  the  open  slope, 
through  the  beech  walk  and  the  chestnut  grove, 
through  shrubbery  and  sunken  gardens,  all  in  the 
glow  of  the  yellow  moon.  But  Charlotte  was  con- 
scious of  nothing  but  the  pressure  of  Roger's  fingers 
on  hers,  the  warmth  of  his  arm  so  close  to  her  beat- 
ing heart.  She  drew  away  from  him  when  they 
reached  the  lower  terrace,  said  a  hasty  goodnight  and 
fled  into  the  house. 

Roger  was  in  love  with  her.  The  doubt  that  had 
quickened  in  her  mind  that  last  night  in  the 
mountains  became  now  a  swift  certainty.  He  was 
in  love  with  her.  She  knew  it,  if  he  did  not.  It 
was  there  in  the  deep  light  of  his  eyes,  as  they  had 
rested  on  her  to-night,  in  the  light  throbbing  beneath 
the  shadows. 

Charlotte  undressed  tremulously  and  went  to  bed. 
There  was  a  big  square  of  moonlight  on  the  floor; 
the  draperies  at  the  window  swayed  gently.  Char- 


232  GIBBETED  GODS 

lotte  felt  a  strange  transport  of  joy  as  she  lay  there. 
Whatever  the  future  held  of  struggle  and  renuncia- 
tion, for  to-night  at  least  she  was  content.  She 
closed  her  eyes  to  the  beat  of  her  happiness,  silent, 
steady,  resistless — 

At  two  o'clock  there  was  a  tap  at  her  door.  She 
started  up,  a  little  confused  and  frightened,  as  one 
awakened  suddenly  from  a  dream.  It  was  Dolly,  a 
slender  trailing  figure  in  the  moonlight. 

"Oh,  Dolly!"  Charlotte  exclaimed. 

Dolly  came  over  and  sat  on  the  bed. 

"Do  you  mind?"  she  asked  as  she  turned  on  the 
night  lamp. 

Charlotte  shaded  her  eyes  quickly,  but  managed  to 
bring  out  a  fairly  convincing  "No,  indeed !"  Then, 
"What  time  is  it*?"  she  asked,  still  dazed. 

"About  two!"  said  Dolly.     "I  just  came  up." 

Charlotte's  eyes  were  still  blinded;  she  was  con- 
scious of  Dolly  only  as  a  blue  satin-clad  figure  with 
a  wealth  of  golden  hair  about  her  shoulders. 

"I  want  to  ask  your  advice,"  Dolly  began  calmly. 
"Philip  proposed  to-night." 

"Oh!"  Charlotte  was  fully  roused  now.  So 
that  was  Philip's  scheme.  A  hot  anger  swept  her. 
Dolly,  poor  little  Dolly ! 

"I  did  n't  accept  him,"  pursued  Dolly.  "I  told 
him  I  could  n't  decide  just  yet." 

Charlotte  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 


GIBBETED  GODS  233 

"I  think  you  are  wise  to  take  time,"  she  said. 
"You  are  young,  you  know." 

Dolly  waived  that. 

"I  had  always  thought  I  was  in  love  with  Philip," 
she  said,  "until  just  recently.  But  now  I  've  de- 
cided it  would  be  interesting  to  marry  out  of  my  own 
circle,  marry  artistically.'"  She  wound  up  on  that 
last  word  with  an  ingenuous  pride  in  its  achieve- 
ment. 

A  slow  and  painful  comprehension  crept  into 
Charlotte's  eyes. 

"I  'd  thought  of  Roger,"  Dolly  went  on,  coolly 
dispassionate  again.  "What  do  you  think  of  that4?" 

The  blood  ebbed  slowly  from  Charlotte's  face  and 
left  it  dead  white,  drained  of  all  its  vivid  color  and 
life.  She  looked  suddenly  old  and  drawn.  Only 
her  eyes  were  bright,  feverishly  bright. 

"Does  Roger — "  she  began,  the  words  hardly  ar- 
ticulated, but  she  repudiated  that  suspicion  at  once, 
even  before  Dolly  answered  without  hesitation: 

"Oh,  no!  You  see  I  Ve  only  just  thought  of  it. 
It  would  take  time.  But  he  would  come  round,  of 
course.  I  could  do  so  much  for  him.  He  has  n't 
any  money.  /  could  make  him." 

A  new  Dolly,  capable  of  amazing  calculations! 
But  Charlotte  was  too  stunned  to  realize  this. 
Again  that  image  of  Dolly  with  the  scepter  in  her 
hand  had  risen  to  confront  her. 


234  GIBBETED  GODS 

"Of  course,"  she  murmured  faintly. 

Perhaps  the  peculiar  quality  of  her  suppression 
penetrated  even  Dolly's  egotism. 

"You  were  just  flirting  with  him,  were  n't  you1?" 
Dolly  asked,  suddenly  curious. 

"We  are  very  good  friends,"  said  Charlotte. 
"You  see,  we  have  our  painting  in  common." 

"But  of  course  you  ought  to  marry  money,"  pur- 
sued Dolly. 

"Quite  true !"  said  Charlotte. 

"You  really  should  have  taken  Billy,"  Dolly  went 
on,  now  in  a  tone  of  patronage.  "But  you  know, 
Charlotte,  Cassimir  is  keen  about  you.  If  you  ex- 
erted yourself  a  little — " 

Charlotte  laughed  uneasily. 

"Suppose  we  get  you  settled  first,  Dolly,"  she  in- 
terrupted. Tell  me,  are  you  in  love  with  Roger?" 
Her  voice  was  very  gentle. 

"Oh,  madly!"  said  Dolly. 

Charlotte  smiled  slightly,  but  with  that  echo  across 
the  years  her  irresolution  dropped  from  her.  The 
old  tenderness  came  sweeping  back,  the  desire  to  help, 
to  protect  Dolly.  What  had  life  ever  given  her,  for 
all  her  money1?  What  had  she  ever  known  of  hu- 
man affection?  Philip  or  Roger!  The  incongruity 
of  it!  Philip,  drunken,  sullen,  ugly;  Roger  of 
pure  unsullied  faith ! 

Dolly  could  make  Roger ;     Charlotte  had  realized 


GIBBETED  GODS  235 

that  only  too  sharply  as  Dolly  had  stated  it.  Dolly 
could  save  him  from  contacts  he  was  not  fitted  to 
meet;  Dolly  could  make  it  possible  for  him  to  fol- 
low out,  undisturbed,  the  higher  vision  of  his  genius. 
And  she  saw  even  more  clearly  what  Roger  could  do 
for  Dolly,  poor  little  Dolly  who  had  never  known 
the  happiness  of  any  fine  affection  or  understanding 
sympathy. 

Charlotte  saw  it  all  in  a  quick  flash  of  vivid  il- 
lumination that  faded  on  the  instant,  however,  and 
left  her  confused  and  bewildered  with  a  surge  of 
passionate  protest  in  her  heart. 

"I  must  think,  Dolly,"  she  said  nervously.  "I 
must  think." 

She  ran  her  hand  over  Dolly's  golden  curls.  Then, 
with  a  sharp  vision  of  Roger's  slender  fingers  en- 
tangled in  that  golden  mesh,  she  drew  away  quickly. 

"We  will  decide  to-morrow,  Dolly,"  she  said. 
"You  must  leave  me  now ;  I  am  tired."  She  drew 
Dolly  down  and  kissed  her.  Then  she  turned  the 
night  lamp  out  hurriedly. 

Dolly  sighed  and  rose.  "But  if  it  is  to  be  Roger," 
she  said,  "you  will  help  me?  You  know  him  so 
well." 

"Yes,"  said  Charlotte  in  a  voice  that  seemed 
muffled  by  the  darkness.  "Yes." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SO  again  Charlotte  was  to  blunder  in  seeking  to 
control  the  destinies  of  others.  She  was  actu- 
ated by  a  mistaken  sense  of  doing  good ;  she  was  up- 
held by  a  mistaken  belief  in  the  glory  of  self-sacrifice. 
Once  she  had  herself  in  control,  she  was  relentless  of 
purpose,  unscrupulous  of  method.  It  never  occurred 
to  her  she  was  using  her  complete  knowledge  of 
Roger  unfairly,  that  she  was  taking  him  at  a  disad- 
vantage. She  saw  only  that  he  must  marry  Dolly; 
that  end  was  her  justification. 

The  house  party  had  still  ten  days  to  run  when 
she  awakened  to  the  task  that  lay  before  her.  But 
she  knew  she  could  do  little  as  yet,  so  bewildered  and 
dazed  did  she  feel.  She  must  get  through  those  ten 
days  as  best  she  could.  She  had  promised  Dolly  to 
help  her.  She  did,  in  that  she  let  Roger  alone  and 
made  it  possible  for  Dolly  to  seek  him  out.  She 
did,  in  that  she  threw  her  own  lot  in  quite  shame- 
lessly with  Buchanan's  crowd.  But  that  was  all 
she  could  do  just  yet.  She  must  get  off  by  herself — 
yes,  get  back  to  the  little  studio,  and  her  own  couch 

with  the  dirty  pillows — before  she  could  formulate  a 

236 


GIBBETED  GODS  237 

definite  scheme  of  action.  Yet  in  that  last  reckless 
week  she  was  to  hit  upon  the  method  that  was  to 
prove  the  most  efficacious  in  the  end.  She  went  in 
for  cards  and  billiards  indiscriminately;  she  played 
polo  with  Larry  Wyckham  and  Tony  Van  Echt ;  she 
talked  horses  with  Buchanan;  she  encouraged  the 
Spanish  attache  to  sing  French  love-songs  to  her 
after  dinner.  But  always  it  seemed  to  Roger  as  he 
watched  her  that  she  came  back  to  Cassimir. 

Charlotte's  sudden  deflection  had  left  Roger  hurt, 
uncertain,  questioning.  She  pleaded  that  she  was 
tired  of  her  painting. 

"I  can  paint  in  McDougal  Street,"  she  said  light- 
ly, "but  I  can't  play  polo." 

Plausible  enough,  but  Roger  was  not  in  the  least 
'deceived.  There  was  some  tragic  urgency  back  of 
her  sudden  veer;  of  that  he  was  dully  sure. 

Yes,  it  was  most  certainly  Cassimir  she  came  back 
to  every  time.  Cassimir!  Roger  studied  them  in- 
tently when  they  were  together.  No,  it  could  not  be. 

Then,  one  day  as  Roger  and  Dolly  were  sitting  on 
the  lower  terrace,  Charlotte  and  Cassimir  came  out 
on  their  way  to  the  tennis-courts.  Rogers  eyes  fol- 
lowed them  reflectively. 

"I  do  hope,"  sighed  Dolly,  her  eyes  taking  the 
direction  of  his,  "something  comes  of  that.  It 
would  be  so  nice  for  Charlotte,  and  Paddy,  too !" 

Paddy!     So  that  was  it.     The  thing  that  had 


238  GIBBETED  GODS 

seemed  so  perplexing  before  was  only  too  simple  of 
explanation  now.  All  the  doubts  and  questionings 
in  Roger's  mind  clarified  instantly  to  the  painful 
conviction  that  Charlotte  was  about  to  sacrifice  her- 
self for  her  mother.  The  image  of  Paddy  rose  again 
to  mock  him.  Paddy,  dilapidated,  crafty,  sinister! 
It  was  wrong,  all  wrong;  everything  that  was  definite 
and  sharp  in  Roger  rose  to  decry  the  sin  of  it. 
Duty  to  self  is  the  highest  duty — the  one  decisive 
point  on  which  Roger  had  fought  clear  of  his  Puri- 
tanic traditions.  He  wanted  to  talk  to  Charlotte; 
he  wanted  to  argue  with  her.  But  he  read  her 
nature  of  a  peculiar  force  that  would  not  brook  op- 
position. He  became  depressed  and  restless.  He 
sought  occasion  to  convey  to  her  by  indirection 
something  of  his  disapproval,  but  she  paid  little  heed 
to  anything  he  said  now. 

Then  one  night  at  dinner  his  opportunity  came. 
The  talk  had  turned  on  the  Bleecker  divorce. 
Eleanor  Bleecker  adored  her  husband,  but  was  di- 
vorcing him  that  he  might  marry  another  woman. 
Eleanor's  action  was  acclaimed  sentimentally  as  of 
an  heroic  unselfishness. 

"Sacrifice  is  unfortunately  almost  out  of  date," 
some  woman  in  a  high  treble  voice  had  vouchsafed. 

"Unfortunately?"  Roger  had  turned  on  her 
quickly.  It  was  his  cue  and  he  took  it.  Sacrifice 
was  senseless.  Only  by  developing  our  own  powers 


GIBBETED  GODS  239 

to  the  utmost  can  we  help  others.  The  highest  duty 
is  to  ourselves. 

Buchanan  and  Larry  and  Tony  jumped  in  on 
Roger's  side.  Duty  to  oneself!  They  liked  the 
sound  of  it;  a  nice  name  for  all  sorts  of  indulgence 
and  excess.  The  argument  waxed.  The  women 
were  all  for  sacrifice;  Roger  accused  them  of  being 
sentimental. 

Then  his  eyes  caught  Charlotte's.  She  knew  he 
was  talking  for  her,  but  what  did  he  know  of  her 
sacrifice'?  She  was  puzzled;  then  with  a  flash  of  her 
quick  intuition  she  saw  it  all.  He  believed  she  was 
going  to  marry  Cassimir  for  Paddy's  sake.  A  strange 
glow  came  into  her  eyes,  a  glow  of  dull,  smoldering 
resentment.  She  had  wanted  her  act  of  renunciation 
to  be  an  act  of  beauty  and  dignity.  She  had  wanted 
her  role  to  be  an  heroic  one,  but,  by  the  light  of  Ro- 
ger's mistaken  belief,  she  saw  her  path  only  too 
clearly  a  path  of  petty  artifice  and  cheap  contrivance. 
To  flirt  with  Cassimir,  yes,  it  came  down  to  that; 
Roger,  himself  all  unknowing,  had  pointed  the  way. 

Charlotte  did  not  permit  herself  to  be  dragged  into 
the  argument.  She  gave  Roger  a  strange,  inscruta- 
ble look  and  then  turned  to  Cassimir  at  her  side. 

The  next  day  Roger  pleaded  a  business  summons 
and  took  his  departure.  Dolly,  herself,  drove  him 
to  the  station. 

"You  will  come  back?"  she  asked. 


240  GIBBETED  GODS 

Roger  had  given  her  a  vague  "Yes,"  then  added, 
"If  I  should  n't,  just  the  knowledge  that  this  beauti- 
ful place  exists  will  be  a  comfort." 

Dolly's  blue  eyes  showed  a  frank  disappointment. 

"But  you  must  come  back.  You  must  promise," 
she  said  with  a  hurt  insistency. 

He  smiled  at  her,  with  a  sense  of  her  childish 
prettiness. 

"Very  well,  I  promise,  then,"  he  said,  and  the 
perception  of  how  pleased  she  was  lightened  ever  so 
slightly  his  own  depression. 

When  Charlotte  had  said  to  herself  that  Roger 
must  marry  Dolly,  she  knew  this  premised  the  fact 
that  he  must  believe  himself  in  love  with  her.  For 
Roger  was  too  fine  ever  to  be  actuated  by  material 
motives.  Charlotte's  effacement  of  herself  was  the 
first  step ;  that  is,  the  effacement  of  all  those  qualities 
in  her  that  had  awakened  such  a  quick  response  in 
him.  They  saw  each  other  frequently.  Roger  had 
dropped  in  for  a  cup  of  tea  a  few  days  after  she  had 
returned  from  Laurence  Park.  She  sought  him  out 
a  week  later  in  his  own  dreary  studio.  So  it  went. 
Occasionally  they  took  walks  together.  They  con- 
fined their  talk  for  the  most  part  to  the  practical,  for 
it  was  the  dragging  problem  of  money  they  both  were 
attempting  to  solve.  "Economy  would  clip  an 
angel's  wings,"  sighed  Charlotte,  wearily.  The 
pinch  of  need — they  both  felt  it  that  winter.  Only 


GIBBETED  GODS  241 

in  the  parties  that  Dolly  gave  did  they  find  them- 
selves again  in  touch  with  the  beautiful.  The  Lau- 
rences' town  house  was  a  sumptuous  one.  Fine  pic- 
tures and  pottery,  priceless  tapestries, — just  to 
wander  about  among  them  restored  the  sense  of 
humanity  as  a  specialized  product.  Charlotte  and 
Roger  both  expanded  to  the  warmth  of  those  little 
dinners,  followed  by  a  theater  and  a  bite  at  Sherry's 
afterward.  Bright  spots  in  a  humdrum  world  that 
was  gradually  resolving  itself  purely  and  simply 
into  a  struggle  for  bread  and  butter ! 

Then,  at  Charlotte's  suggestion,  Cassimir  had  been 
included.  A  new  element  entered  in  after  that.  To 
watch  the  working  out  of  this  little  drama  at  close 
hand  seemed  to  Roger  the  last  torture  in  his  already 
miserable  existence.  For  things  were  going  very 
badly  with  Roger.  The  mornings  he  had  destined 
for  his  beloved  painting  were  soon  discovered  as 
singularly  profitless.  He  blamed  it  to  the  commer- 
cial work  that  lay  in  wait  for  him  in  the  afternoon. 
He  blamed  it  to  the  conditions  under  which  he  was 
forced  to  live.  For  the  studio,  as  Paddy  had  pre- 
dicted, was  cold  and  he  found  himself  reduced  at  an 
early  hour  to  a  shivering  stupidity.  But,  whatever 
the  cause,  the  salient  fact  remained:  Roger  could 
not  work.  This  was  the  greater  tragedy,  for  his  was 
the  genius  that  in  the  act  of  creation  soars  above  the 
accident  of  circumstance.  But  once  away  from 


242  GIBBETED  GODS 

actual  accomplishment,  he  became  the  victim  of  a 
fearful  depression,  that  left  him  miserable,  moody, 
doubtful  of  himself,  his  power,  his  vision.  His 
(discouragement  led  to  the  loss  of  his  advertising 
commissions.  Failure  to  get  the  work  in  at  the 
time  agreed,  lack  of  conviction  in  the  execution  of 
that  work,  told  against  him.  Once  or  twice 
Charlotte  came  and  helped  him.  She  scolded  him 
roundly  for  his  laziness  and  depression. 

"Why  are  you  so  unhappy*?"  she  put  it  to  him. 

"Because  I  can't  paint.  I  don't  believe  I  shall 
ever  paint  anything  worth  while  again/* 

She  laughed  at  his  pessimism,  took  him  out  for  a 
walk,  and  all  the  while  there  hammered  in  her  brain 
the  thought:  If  Dolly  could  give  him  back  his 
power  to  work — there,  there  lay  the  solution. 

The  winter  had  not  been  an  easy  one  for  Charlotte. 
She  had  been  upheld  by  an  almost  fanatical  zeal  in 
her  purpose.  Not  once  did  she  question  the  Tightness 
of  the  thing  she  had  set  out  to  do.  But,  somehow, 
the  strain  was  beginning  to  tell.  Roger,  in  the 
pathetic  loss  of  faith  in  himself,  was  of  a  more  potent 
appeal  than  ever  he  had  been  in  his  days  of  fine 
confidence.  She  could  trust  herself  less  and  less 
to  be  with  him.  He  was  beginning  to  look  too 
fine-drawn,  nervous,  almost  ill.  Charlotte,  herself, 
was  feeling  far  from  well. 

Roger  refused  soon  to  be  included  in  Dolly's 


GIBBETED  GODS  243 

parties.     She  was  hurt,  so  he  compromised  and  went 
there  for  tea  occasionally.     In   a  passive  way  he 
enjoyed  Dolly,  reacting  to  her  guileless  simplicity. 
And  she  was  always  lovely  to  look  at ! 
Dolly  came  to  Charlotte. 

j 

"It  will  take  time,  as  I  expected,"  she  sai3 
calmly. 

Charlotte  could  stand  it  no  longer.  It  was  not  a 
question  of  time,  but  of  issue  forced,  and  forced  at 
once.  Dolly  must  give  Roger  back  his  power  to 
work;  that  was  the  only  solution.  Dolly  must  take 
him  away  from  the  sordid  drag  of  his  surroundings, 
out  into  the  splendid  open  where  his  inspiration 
might  once  more  lift  its  wings.  'She  could  picture 
him  again  at  his  easel,  as  she  had  seen  him  so  often 
in  the  mountains,  his  eyes  luminous  with  the  light  of 
his  inner  vision.  She  could  picture  him  so,  with 
Dolly  at  his  side,  calmly  waiting  for  the  gratitude 
that  was  her  just  due.  Gratitude  and  love!  If 
there  was  a  difference,  Roger,  in  the  glow  of  his  re- 
covered security,  in  the  happiness  of  his  quickened 
genius,  would  not  know  it. 

In  February  Dolly  had  suggested  a  yachting  party 
on  the  Kittiwake  to  the  West  Indies.  Cassimir 
could  n't  go,  for  he  'd  just  started  in  to  study 
banking.  But  Larry  Wyckham  had  promised  and 
the  Tim  Watsons  and — 

Charlotte  temporized  with  Dolly. 


244  GIBBETED  GODS 

"I  '11  try  to  go.  But  I  'm  not  sure.  Make  your 
plans  just  the  same." 

Then  the  next  day,  resolute  and  determined,  she 
had  gone  to  Roger's  studfo.  It  'was  a  bitterly  cold 
day.  She  found  him  huddled  over  his  easel.  He 
had  his  overcoat  on  and  a  blanket  about  his  feet. 

He  rose  eagerly  to  greet  her. 

"Let 's  take  a  walk  and  get  warm,"  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Where  's  your  oil-stove1?" 

"The  janitress  took  it  this  morning  to  fill;  she 
has  n't  brought  it  back  yet." 

"Go  and  find  it"  Charlotte  directed.  "Then 
we  '11  have  some  tea." 

The  stove  was  duly  recovered  and  lighted,  the 
kettle  put  on  to  boil.  Charlotte  prepared  the  tea- 
tray.  There  was  something  pathetic  in  that  array 
of  old  china,  in  the  silver  worn  thin  by  generations 
of  Canbys  and  Winthrops.  Poor  Roger!  He  sat 
there,  warming  his  slender  hands  over  the  oil  blaze 
and  smiled  at  her  as  she  busied  herself. 

Charlotte  drew  a  deep  breath,  handed  him  his  tea, 
and  then  sat  down. 

"You  've  heard  from  Dolly,"  she  asked,  "about 
the  yachting  party1?" 

"Have  I !"  his  face  brightened.  "I  've  thought 
of  nothing  since.  The  idea  of  tropical  vistas — " 

"You're  going,  then,"  Charlotte  said. 


GIBBETED  GODS  245 

This  brought  him  up  short. 

"Are  n't  you*?"  he  asked  quickly. 

Charlotte  put  down  her  cup  and  saucer,  hesitated 
a  second,  then  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"No  Roger,"  she  said  firmly.     "I  'm  not  going." 

His  face  clouded. 

"Why  not*?"  he  asked  uncertainly. 

She  read  his  thoughts. 

"You  know." 

"Cassimir !"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Charlotte  shrugged.  "Cassimir  or  anybody  else, 
for  that  matter,  who  has  money." 

She  tried  not  to  meet  his  eyes,  for  as  she  had 
spoken  she  was  conscious  of  a  strange  ebb  of  her 
courage.  And  again  that  revolt  at  the  pettiness  of 
method  by  which  she  must  achieve  her  end! 

"So  that  is  why  I  'm  not  going  on  the  yachting 
party,"  she  wound  up  a  little  feebly. 

"But  I  want  you  to  go  just  the  same."  She  added 
this  on  a  sudden  impulse. 

There  was  a  silence.  Charlotte  looked  up  quickly 
at  him,  but  Roger  had  turned  away.  When  he 
turned  back,  she  was  conscious  of  a  cold  anger  in 
his  eyes. 

"You  mean  you  want  me  to  marry  Dolly  for  her 
money?"  he  asked  in  all  directness. 

She  had  blundered  and  realized  it. 

"No,  Roger,"  she  said,  and  t'he  low  quiver  of  her 


246  GIBBETED  GODS 

voice  carried  its  conviction,  "I  don't  mean  that. 
/  could  marry  for  money;  you  couldn't.  But  I 
have  hoped  you  might  fall  in  love  with  Dolly.  You 
could  do  much  for  Dolly,  and  Dolly  could  do  much 
for  you.  She  could  give  you  a  pure  love,  a  simple 
devotion.  A  great  passion,  Roger,  exacts  too  much ; 
a  great  passion  would  hurt  your  work — It  is  the 
sort  of  thing  Dolly  can  give  that  you  need  most — " 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  eyes  and  rose.  "I  am 
getting  altogether  too  officious,"  she  said,  "and  senti- 
mental too!"  She  forced  herself  to  smile.  "Ah, 
that  miserable  stove  is  smoking !" 

She  floundered  about;  she  felt  she  could  not  go 
just  yet.  Roger  stood  there  quitfe  impassive. 
"Couldn't  I,"  she  looked  about  her,  "couldn't  I 
make  you  some  fresh  tea?  Yours  must  be  cold." 

"That  will  be  very  nice,"-  he  said. 

His  voice  was  even.  She  dared  at  last  to  look 
into  his  eyes.  Trie  light  in  them  had  quite  faded, 
blurred  out  by  the  shadows,  through  the  blackness 
of  which  for  one  desperate  second  she  struggled  to 
penetrate.  Then  she  had  turned  away. 

It  was,  she  told  herself  in  all  bitterness,  that  the 
Puritan  in  him  had  risen  in  resentment  of  her  inter- 
ference and  had  shut  her  out  with  a  conscious  cruelty. 

The  next  day  Dolly  telephoned,  calm  and  opti- 
mistic for  all  the  fact  her  plans  had  gone  astray. 
Roger  had  refused  definitely  to  join  the  party. 


GIBBETED  GODS  247 

"Some  stupid  old  advertising  work  that  had 
just  come  in,"  said  Dolly.  "So  I  've  decided  to 
give  up  my  trip  and  stay  in  town." 

Charlotte  saw  Roger  but  little  after  that.  It  was 
she  who  sought  him  out  in  a  miserable  sort  of  restless- 
ness. He  was  polite,  even  cordial  in  his  restrained 
way,  but  the  sympathy  of  a  complete  understanding 
was  gone. 

He  still  went  to  Dolly's  for  tea. 

"He  '11  come  around  soon,"  Dolly  reported  to 
Charlotte  one  day  with  an  unusual  eagerness  for 
her.  "I  called  for  him  yesterday  to  take  him  out 
in  the  country  for  a  drive,  and  while  I  was  upstairs 
the  janitor  told  Parsons  that  Roger  was  back  in  his 
rent — " 

Charlotte  closed  her  eyes  with  the  sense  of  a 
jarring  discord. 

Those  weeks  following  Roger's  definite  exclusion 
of  her  from  his  inner  life  were  for  Charlotte  the 
most  miserable,  tragic  weeks.  They  were  full  of  the 
sense  of  time  and  energy  wasted.  She  could 
settle  to  nothing;  she  could  accomplish  nothing. 
And  always  she  thought  of  Roger  and  of  his  contempt 
for  her.  Yet  was  it  contempt?  That  doubt  grew 
with  time.  Or  was  it  that  her  appeal  for  Dolly 
had  forced  its  way  home  and  he  had  withdrawn 
into  himself,  frightened  at  the  issue?  For  Roger 
was  of  a  timidity  that  shrank  from  the  particular  re- 


248  GIBBETED  GODS 

alization  of  the  big  events  of  life.  But,  whatever 
the  cause,  the  fact  of  his  exclusion  of  her  was  unde- 
niable. The  more  reason  she  should  persist  in  her 
struggle  to  help  him,  for  the  more  defenseless  he  was 
in  the  completeness  of  his  isolation. 

The  matter  of  rent  seemed  to  Charlotte  the  last 
mortification,  reduced  as  it  had  been  to  common 
gossip  between  Dolly  and  her  chauffeur.  It  was, 
then,  a  well-timed  opportunity  that  she  should  meet 
Buchanan  Laurence  the  next  day  on  Fifth  Avenue. 
She  was  in  her  best  suit  and  looked  well.  It  was 
five  o'clock;  there  was  Buchanan  and  there  was 
Sherry's.  Tea  under  the  conditions  was  inevitable. 

Charlotte  had  taken  her  resolve  at  once,  but  with 
a  complete  realization  of  the  cheapness  of  her  attack. 
Buchanan  himself  gave  her  an  early  cue.  Scarcely 
seated  and  the  officious  waiters  settled  With, 
Buchanan  opened  up  the  subject  of  Dolly's  portrait. 

"Oh!"  Charlotte  laughed,  "that  is  to  be  my 
masterpiece.  Give  me  time." 

"It  beats  me,"  said  Buchanan,  "how  you  artists 
scorn  money.  It 's  lucky  we  don't  run  the  banking 
business  the  way  you  run  yours." 

"I  don't  scorn  money,"  Charlotte  said.  "You 
know  that." 

"I  wish  I  did,"  answered  Buchanan,  promptly. 
'"By  the  way,  how 's  your  painter  friend,  the  good- 


GIBBETED  GODS  249 

looking  chap1?  You  know  I  have  half  a  suspicion, 
Charlotte—" 

Charlotte  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"You  're  wrong,"  she  said.  Then,  in  a  lowered 
voice  of  mock  seriousness,  "Buchanan,  I  'm  about  to 
betray  a  secret — " 

Buchanan's  delight  was  unbounded.  He  leaned 
closer. 

"Fire  away!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  think,"  Charlotte  said,  "Dolly  is  in  love  with 
my  good-looking  painter  friend,  as  you  call  him." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  Buchanan.     "There  's  Phil." 

"She 's   refused   him,"    Charlotte   stated   coolly. 

"Sure4?"  Buchanan  was  skeptical. 

Charlotte  nodded. 

"Gad,  I  'm  sorry  to  hear  it !  And  you  think  it  Js 
this  artist  chap — Cotton  Mather,  is  n't  it*?" 

Charlotte  smiled  broadly  at  this  sally.  "Roger 
Winthrop  Canby,"  she  corrected. 

Buchanan  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  fancy  it!"  he  said.  "A  Puritan  at  my 
own  fireside !  Besides,  Doll 's  the  sort  needs  some 
one  to  beat  her  into  shape  now  and  then.  I  myself 
am  too  indulgent." 

It  was  proof  of  this  indulgence  that  Charlotte 
won  Buchanan  in  short  order  to  the  giving  of  young 
love  its  chance. 


250  GIBBETED  GODS 

"The  first  old  Governor  Winthrop  was  a  smart 
chap,  as  I  remember,"  said  Buchanan.  "He 
cornered  a  lot  of  land  somewhere  in  Massachusetts. 
A  real  genius !" 

"Roger  is  a  genius,  too!"  said  Charlotte,  quietly. 
"Given  the  opportunity,  he  will  do  big  things." 

"Really*?"  said  Buchanan.  He  was  interested; 
success  in  any  line  compelled  his  respect. 

"Lorenzo  the  Magnificent!"  Charlotte  smiled  a 
warm  bright  smile  directly  into  his  eyes.  "Why 
not,  Buchanan?  The  role  would  suit  you.  How 
about  a  few  pictures  of  Laurence  Park  or  your 
Lenox  place"?  It  would  give  Roger  a  start  and 
Dolly  a  chance." 

"Done!"  said  Buchanan,,  loudly.  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent !  The  idea  tickled  him.  He  expanded. 

"You  ask  him,  Charlotte,  or  I  '11  tell  Doll.  He 
can  set  his  own  price,  of  course!" 

Charlotte  thought  a  minute. 

"No,"  she  said.  "Write  him  yourself,  Buchanan, 
and  make  it  of  a  strictly  business  turn." 

Buchanan  with  a  flourishing  importance  produced 
a  note-book. 

"Roger  Winthrop  Canby !"  she  dictated.  "Wash- 
ington Square  South.  Yes,  that  is  enough." 

Buchanan  took  her  to  her  own  door. 

"Can't  we  ever  get  together,  Charlotte?"  he  burst 
out.  "Hang  it  all,  I  'd  like  to  see  a  lot  of  you ! 


GIBBETED  GODS  251 

How  about  motoring  out  for  dinner  some  night  *?" 

Charlotte  smiled. 

"I  can't  ever  tell  about  Paddy,"  she  temporized. 
"But  I  '11  call  you  up  sometime." 

"You  mean  it?"   pressed  Buchanan. 

"Of  course!'1  she  said,  then  laughed.  "Re- 
member, Roger  Winthrop  Canby;  not  Cotton 
Mather!" 

Buchanan  could  still  appreciate  his  own  joke  with 
a  loud  guffaw.  And  so  they  parted. 

Charlotte  went  in  and  made  her  way  slowly  up 
the  stairs.  Paddy's  door  was  shut.  Charlotte  cast 
one  weary,  despairing  look  at  it,  then  sank  into  a 
chair  and  sat  staring  dully  into  space. 


CHAPTER  XX 

APRIL  and  May  Roger  spent  at  Laurence  Park, 
July  at  Lenox.     Charlotte  heard  of  it  from 
Dolly  on  her  occasional  visits  to  the  city. 

"He  's  quite  mad  about  his  pictures,"  Dolly  re- 
ported. "Did  you  read  the  criticisms  of  the  two 
exhibited  at  Knoedler's?  It's  fun  to  see  the 
pictures  grow ;  I  sit  and  watch  him  every  day." 

The  end  of  July  the  engagement  was  announced. 
The  papers  were  very  much  excited,  treated  the 
matter  from  every  possible  orientation.  Dolly's 
beauty  and  wealth,  Roger's  genius  and  ancestors! 
The  affair  was  traced  step  by  step.  It  was  unusual ; 
it  was  romantic.  It  was  thought  worthy  of  head- 
lines usually  reserved  for  murders  and  political  ex- 
posures. There  were  interviews  with  Dolly,  and 
interviews  with  Roger,  none  of  them  authentic,  of 
course,  but  that  mattered  little ;  pictures,  too,  of  the 
happy  pair,  pictures  of  the  Laurences'  country  house, 
the  Laurences'  town  house,  even  the  old  house  in 
Concord  where  Roger  had  been  born.  The  financial 
exploits  of  Buchanan  mingled  with  anecdotes  of  the 

original  John  Winthrop.     Even  Nana,  Dolly's  old 

252 


GIBBETED  GODS  253 

nurse,  was  discovered  as  having  a  few  things  to  say. 
As  a  tiny  child,  Dolly  had  loved  picture-books. 
Truly,  a  poignant  fact  in  the  light  of  present  events ! 

In  August  Charlotte  contrived  to  take  Paddy  to 
a  cheap  little  Jersey  resort.  She  found  the  crowds 
intolerable,  however,  so  the  middle  of  the  month 
they  came  back  to  the  studio.  Paddy  was  cross ;  she 
blamed  Philip's  failure  entirely  to  Charlotte,  so  she 
did  everything  in  her  power  to  torment  Charlotte 
in  little  ways. 

The  end  of  August  Dolly  telephoned  Charlotte 
to  meet  her  at  Sherry's.  The  same  Dolly,  blue-eyed 
and  cool ! 

"You  're  to  be  maid  of  honor,"  she  announced. 

Charlotte  started  to  protest,  but  somehow  her 
pride  exacted  that  she  go  through  with  it. 

"When  is  it  to  be,  Dolly1?"  she  asked. 

'The  fifteenth  of  September,"  answered  Dolly. 
"We  're  going  off  on  the  Kittiwake  for  our 
honeymoon." 

Charlotte  said  nothing. 

"Bendel  's  doing  the  dresses,"  Dolly  chattered  on. 
"You  're  to  go  there  to-morrow  morning  for  a 
fitting."  She  paused  a  second.  Then,  "Of  course, 
you  know,  Charlotte,  /  '//  pay  for  yours.  They  're 
an  expensive  model." 

It  was  evidence  of  the  sterling  quality  of 
Charlotte's  love  for  Dolly  that  she  could  meet  this 


254  GIBBETED  GODS 

with  a  quiet  self-possession  and  a  murmured  ac- 
ceptance. 

The  culmination  of  her  plans  brought  Charlotte 
none  of  the  joy  she  had  expected,  the  peculiar  satis- 
faction of  a  mission  fulfilled.  Whatever  exaltation 
had  sustained  her  in  the  beginning  had  faded  com- 
pletely long  before  her  purpose  had  been  achieved. 
She  had  suffered  acutely  in  those  last  weeks. 
But  now  the  struggle  was  over,  an  apathetic  dullness 
set  in  and  an  unutterable  physical  weariness.  It 
was  this  as  much  as  anything  that  led  her  to  put  off 
her  trip  to  Newport  until  the  day  before  the  wedding. 
She  simply  did  not  have  the  physical  strength  to 
meet  the  exactions  of  prolonged  festivity.  She 
wired  Dolly  she  would  take  the  midnight,  arriving 
the  morning  of  the  wedding.  Buchanan's  answering 
wire,  placing  at  her  disposal  the  Kittiwake,  which 
was  leaving  New  York  the  same  evening,  filled 
her  with  a  certain  relief.  The  night  on  the  sleeper 
would  have  left  her  in  a  sorry  condition  for  the 
next  day's  gaiety.  But  once  on  board  the  yacht, 
the  mistake  of  it  all  swept  her,  of  overwhelming 
force. 

The  Kittiwake  had  just  been  done  over,  and,  from 
its  gleaming,  shining  whole  down  to  the  smallest 
detail  of  perfected  luxury,  cried  out  of  to-morrow's 
occasion.  The  crew,  usually  so  well  ordered,  were 


GIBBETED  GODS  255 

all  of  a  bustle.  The  captain,  himself,  had  met  her 
in  the  launch  to  welcome  her  on  board.  He  re- 
membered her  when  as  a  child  she  had  taken  trips 
with  Dolly,  a  fact  which  insured  him  the  privilege 
of  a  deferential  familiarity.  He  talked  of  the 
wedding,  always  the  wedding,  and  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  Charlotte  must  go  over  the  whole  boat 
when  they  were  hardly  under  steam.  Buchanan's 
suite,  the  biggest  and  finest,  was  destined  for  Roger. 
Yes,  Dolly's  room  was  just  as  she  remembered  it, 
only  the  blue-damask  upholstery  was  new  and  her 
dressing-room  had  been  enlarged.  The  guest-room 
adjoining  had  been  turned  into  a  breakfast-room, 
the  one  beyond  that  into  a  small  lounge.  The  saloon 
was  even  more  sumptuous  than  she  had  recalled  it. 
They  went  below-stairs,  too,  to  inspect  the  galley, 
the  lockers,  the  wine-cellar,  even  the  ice-plant. 
Good-natured  groups  were  collected  to  gossip.  All 
talked  at  once;  the  chef  gesticulated.  Jollity  pre- 
vailed; the  nuptial  champagne  had  already  begun 
to  flow. 

At  eight  o'clock  Charlotte  sat  down  to  dinner, 
an  elaborate  function  that  dragged  an  interminable 
length.  Then  she  went  on  deck.  It  was  a  beautiful 
night;  Dolly  had  planned  her  honeymoon  with  an 
eye  to  lunar  effects.  The  boat  left  a  wake  of 
luminous,  tender  light.  Poor  Charlotte!  It  was 
tragic;  it  was  ironic;  it  was  cruel.  She  sat  there 


256  GIBBETED  GODS 

in  a  passion  of  loneliness,  a  loneliness  that  was  the 
sharper  pain  for  a  doubt  fastening  slowly  on  her 
shaken  confidence. 

In  the  evening  paper  the  captain  handed  her  there 
had  been  a  chance  item  about  Roger.  He  had  ar- 
rived in  Newport  only  that  morning,  after  two  weeks 
spent  at  an  old  farmhouse  in  the  mountains,  where 
he  and  his  mother  had  been  wont  to  go  during  her 
lifetime.  A  touching  incident  of  filial  tenderness, — 
so  the  journal  interpreted  it.  But  Charlotte  read  it 
otherwise  and  her  confidence  in  the  fine  Tightness 
of  the  thing  she  had  achieved  was  suddenly  shaken. 
As  she  sat  there  through  the  urgent  hours,  her  doubt 
became  a  great  fear,  a  panic  of  confusion.  If 
Roger's  love  for  her  had  been  awakened  at  last! 
She  closed  her  eyes  to  a  pulsing  terror  that  left  her 
weak  and  frightened.  The  yacht  was  out  in  the 
open  waters  of  the  sound  now;  and  always  that 
tender  light  of  the  moon,  the  creak  of  the  rigging, 
the  cry  of  a  wandering  gull. 

The  next  morning  Charlotte  went  in  early  on  the 
launch.  A  motor  met  her  at  the  dock.  There  was 
a  service  wagon,  there,  too,  with  some  of  Dolly's 
trunks  and  her  two  maids  to  unpack  them.  There 
were  baskets  of  flowers  and  choice  fruit  and  special 
wines  and  Dolly's  Pomeranian,  yelping  and  snapping 
at  the  passers-by.  Irene  welcomed  Charlotte  with 
open  arms;  in  her  babbling  effusion  Charlotte  read 


GIBBETED  GODS  257 

more  evidence  of  the  conviviality  such  occasions 
make  possible. 

A  few  minutes  later  she  was  at  the  house.  She 
was  ushered  at  once  to  Dolly's  room,  vaguely 
conscious  of  vistas  of  glittering  display  everywhere. 
Dolly's  presents,  of  course!  Detectives  on  guard 
looked  at  her  curiously  as  she  passed.  Dolly 
was  still  in  bed,  a  fragile,  diminutive  creature  as 
she  lay  there,  almost  lost  to  view  among  piles 
of  lacy  pillows.  As  Charlotte  came  forward, 
her  eyes  swept  with  a  swift  pleasure  the  nice 
harmonies  of  that  lovely  room,  but  the  sense  of 
rest  it  should  have  evoked  was  lost  in  a  babel 
of  noise.  There  was  a  maid  at  the  telephone, 
garrulous  and  shrill  of  voice,  another  directing  some 
packing,  a  third  arranging  flowers  in  a  tall  vase  by 
the  fireside.  Two  footmen  were  carrying  out  a 
breakfast-table  and  there  was  the  noise  of  running 
water  from  the  bath.  Dolly  greeted  Charlotte  with 
a  little  whimper.  She  was  flushed  and  complained 
that  she  had  a  headache.  Nana  was  sitting  on  the 
side  of  the  bed,  scolding  her  roundly  and  preparing 
a  headache  powder. 

Dolly  drew  Charlotte  down  beside  her,  and  Nana 
rose  to  herd  some  of  the  maids  into  the  dressing- 
room.  There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Another 
footman  with  a  tray  of  telegrams  which  Dolly  threw 
all  over  the  floor  in  nervous  irritation !  Poor  little 


258  GIBBETED  GODS 

flustered  Dolly!  Charlotte  took  her  hand  and 
sought  to  quiet  her;  in  doing  so  she  succeeded  in 
quieting  her  own  nerves,  too.  Then  Dolly  began  to 
brighten.  Roger  had  come  just  the  day  before. 
Had  Charlotte  seen  any  of  the  others'?  But  no,  of 
course,  no  one  would  be  up  yet.  The  church  looked 
beautiful;  Uncle  Henry  had  given  her  a  dinner 
service  of  gold  and  Larry  Wyckham  had  been  drunk 
for  three  days. 

At  eleven  o'clock  preparations  began  in  earnest, 
interrupted  only  by  luncheon,  which  Charlotte  and 
Dolly  had  together  in  Dolly's  breakfast-room.  A 
succession  of  manicures  and  hair-dressers  and  queru- 
lous maids !  The  gaiety  downstairs  increased  apace 
and  there  was  a  running  back  and  forth  from  room  to 
room.  A  piano  was  being  pounded  somewhere;  a 
strident  voice  was  heard  in  an  attempt  to  sing. 

Dolly  was  dressed  at  last;  so  was  Charlotte;  so 
were  the  bridesmaids,  who  broke  in  ever  and  again 
with  some  absurdity  of  suggestion  and  flutter  of  con- 
scious prettiness.  Buchanan  came  in  to  have  a  look 
at  Dolly,  but  showed  a  much  livelier  interest  in  her 
maid  of  honor.  They  all  had  a  cocktail,  which 
Charlotte  drank,  for  Dolly  was  the  toast.  Six 
o'clock !  It  was  getting  late !  They  began  to  crowd 
down  the  big  staircase  into  the  hall  below.  The 
motors  were  heard  outside.  Buchanan  and  Cassimir 


GIBBETED  GODS  259 

were  shouting  directions  in  loud  voices.  Then  Char- 
lotte caught  her  first  glimpse  of  Roger.  Other  men 
in  the  party  were  taller  than  he,  but  there  was  that 
in  his  slender  aloofness  that  made  him  stand  out  a- 
bove  the  others  with  a  fine  distinctness.  The  effect 
was  that  of  a  pedestaled  statue  in  a  gallery  of  crowd- 
ing tourists.  He  did  not  see  Charlotte. 

At  last,  amid  gaiety  and  confusion  they  got  to 
the  church.  Old  Trinity!  There  was  a  hush  as 
they  stood  ready  in  the  vestibule;  then  the  organ 
pealed  out  its  joyous  summons. 

It  was  for  Charlotte  to  lead  that  brilliant  array  up 
the  aisle  and  she  did  it  with  a  superb  dignity  and 
poise.  She  walked  with  head  erect,  her  eyes  on  the 
face  of  the  Christ  in  the  window  over  the  old  altar. 
They  crowded  at  the  sides  of  the  altar-rail,  where 
Roger  and  Cassimir  were  waiting  for  them,  the 
bridesmaids  lovely  in  their  shimmering  gowns,  the 
ushers  tall  and  slim  and  straight.  Dolly  stepped 
forward,  a  luminous  satin-clad  figure  with  a  halo  of 
old  lace  and  orange  blossoms  upon  her  golden  hair. 
In  her  translucent  blue  eyes  was  a  restored  placidity, 
a  gentle  sweetness. 

The  music  ceased,  the  flutter  of  the  congregation 
subsided,  and  the  minister  began. 

"Dearly  beloved,  we  are  gathered  together  here 
in  the  sight  of  God — " 


26o  GIBBETED  GODS 

'  There  was  in  Charlotte's  soul  a  strange  hush  that 
was  yet  vibrant  to  every  word  of  that  poignant  ser- 
vice. 

Roger's  voice  was  very  low,  of  a  peculiar  tremor. 

" — to  have  and  to  hold  from  this  day  forward, 
for  better  for  worse,  for  richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness 
and  in  health,  to  love  and  to  cherish,  till  death  us  do 
part—" 

Charlotte's  lips  moved  as  she  repeated  the  words 
after  him;  then  she  bent  her  head. 

Roger  and  Dolly  were  pronounced  man  and  wife, 
the  minister  gave  his  final  exhortation,  and  the  thing 
was  done.  There  was  a  tense  pause  before  the  final 
burst  of  triumphal  music.  Roger  had  risen  and 
turned  to  Dolly.  Then  his  eyes  met  Charlotte's,  his 
eyes  the  light  in  them  at  last  burned  clear  of  the 
shadows.  There  was  a  sharp  sensatory  interchange, 
a  second's  vivid,  tragic,  terrible  illumination,  and  he 
bent  his  head  to  Dolly's. 

The  next  minute  the  procession,  now  gay  and  in- 
formal with  responsibility  at  an  end,  started  down 
the  aisle  to  the  exultant  strains  of  the  Mendelssohn 
wedding-march. 


PART  VI 


PART  VI 
CHAPTER  XXI 

/CHARLOTTE  had  contrived  that  they  take  a 
\^  train  from  Naples  that  would  reach  Florence 
about  noon.  She  put  it  on  the  grounds  of  the  practi- 
cal: she  and  Paddy  had  no  definite  place  to  go  to; 
it  would  be  folly  to  arrive  at  dawn.  In  reality,  how- 
ever, she  was  seeking  to  fortify  herself  against  the 
poignancy  of  recollection.  As  they  drew  into  the 
station  she  was  deeply  thankful  her  first  day  in 
Florence  was  to  be  a  busy  one,  full  of  distracting 
problems. 

The  first  problem  presented  itself  immediately. 
What  should  she  do  with  Paddy  ?  Paddy  could 
never  stand  the  tedium  of  a  hunt  for  accommoda- 
tions. On  the  other  hand,  she  did  n't  dare  to  leave 
Paddy  in  the  station,  for  curiosity  would  have  drawn 
her  in  no  time  out  into  the  crowded  streets  to  seek 
adventure.  She  compromised  at  last  on  the  Loggia 
de  Lanzi.  Paddy  could  rest  there,,  with  yet  enough 
pictures  and  statues  and  passing  people  to  amuse 
her.  So  they  got  into  a  cab  and  started  off. 
Santa  Maria  Novella,  San  Lorenzo,  Palazza  Ric- 
cardi,  then  the  Duomo  and  the  Campanile!  They 

263 


264  GIBBETED  GODS 

were  just  the  same,  those  buildings  that  she  and 
Hendy  had  haunted  so  long  ago.  It  was  all  just  the 
same, — the  blue  of  the  heaven,  the  purple  hills,  and 
up  there,  back  of  the  Boboli  gardens,  the  villa  of  the 
comtesse  still  nestled  among  the  cypress-trees.  The 
people  who  pressed  about  them  in  the  crowded  streets 
were  living  the  same  bustling,  noisy  existence.  Yes, 
the  three  years  had  effected  little  of  change.  The 
daily  routine  of  Florence  had  been  uninterrupted  by 
event.  But,  as  to  that,  her  own  life  had  flowed  on, 
too !  That  was  the  strange  part  of  it.  Hendy  had 
died,  and  Paddy  had  nearly  died,  and  Roger  and 
Dolly  were  married.  Yet  she  had  gone  right  on, 
and,  outwardly,  there  had  been  little  change.  The 
continuity  of  life  was  as  inexorable  as  death. 

Her  eyes  rested  on  the  Campanile,  its  slender 
shaft  against  the  morning  sky.  Charlotte  breathed 
a  deep  sigh.  Yes,  for  all  the  sadness  of  recollection 
that  Florence  held,  she  was  glad  to  be  there  once 
more. 

She  wondered  vaguely  what  Paddy  was  thinking 
of.  She  turned  to  her.  There  was  a  far-away  ex- 
pression in  Paddy's  eyes  as  they  came  around  to  hers. 

"It  would  have  been  such  a  priceless  opportunity," 
Paddy  said  dreamily,  "for  Boule  de  Suif  to  know 
her  Florence !" 

It  was  the  loss  of  Boule  de  Suif  that  had  made 
Paddy  as  eager  as  Charlotte  to  leave  New  York  for 


GIBBETED  GODS  265 

good  and  seek  their  fortunes  in  Florence.  When 
Charlotte  arrived  home  after  Dolly's  wedding,  she 
found  Paddy  in  a  woeful  state  of  dejection.  Boule 
de  Suif  had  deserted.  There  followed  a  week  of 
feverish  search,  of  agitated  excursions,  but  Paddy 
had  known  the  real  truth  from  the  beginning. 

"If  she  had  died,"  Paddy  wailed,  "I  should  n't 
feel  so  bad,  but  for  her  to  have  deserted  me  for  some 
old  philandering  tom-cat.  Oh,  I  know ;  my  instinct 
tells  me.  So  don't  try  to  argue  with  me  or  excuse 
that  feline  hussy." 

So  it  was  chance  played  into  Charlotte's  hands 
and  Paddy  saw  nothing  strange  in  their  sudden 
move.  The  weeks  of  preparation  were  unreal,  in- 
choate, as  a  disordered  dream  which  defies  all  sense 
of  time  and  continuity  and  perspective.  Only  the 
end  Charlotte  saw  clearly ;  she  must  get  away  at  once 
before  Dolly  and  Roger  returned.  What  she  was 
afraid  of  she  did  not  know ;  she  had  only  the  tragic 
sense  of  a  great  irremediable  wrong  that  her  presence 
would  but  aggravate.  To  get  away  at  any  cost! 
She  went  about  with  a  wild  recklessness,  selling  her 
furniture,  her  clothes,  the  few  things  left  in  storage, 
all  at  a  loss,  of  course.  She  haunted  the  shipping- 
offices  to  find  something  within  her  means.  Paddy 
was  forever  packing  and  unpacking,  then  repacking 
in  a  new  way,  creating  a  greater  chaos  with  each 
fresh  inspiration.  In  the  end,  Charlotte  was  forced 


266  GIBBETED  GODS 

to  sell  some  of  Hendy's  books  to  make  up  the  sum  of 
their  tickets,  third-class  ones  at  that.  The  sacrifice 
of  the  books  she  considered  at  first  very  bitter,  but 
in  the  end  she  got  a  certain  sad  satisfaction  in  the 
idea  that  it  was  Hendy  who  was  helping  her  through 
this  great  crisis  of  her  life.  If  Hendy  had  lived, 
things  would  have  been  so  different.  But  she  had 
a  strange  sense  as  they  drove  through  the  crowded 
streets  of  Florence  that  morning  that  she  was  coming 
home  to  Hendy.  It  was  as  if  he  were  waiting  for  her 
somewhere,  a  welcome  in  the  deep  quiet  of  his  eyes. 
Their  cab  had  reached  Or  San  Michele  now  and 
the  streets  were  getting  more  crowded  and  noisy. 
Charlotte  roused  herself  again  to  look  at  Paddy. 
Paddy  was  sitting  high,  viewing  the  crowd  with  a 
lofty  hauteur  that  would  have  done  justice  to  Cleo- 
patra drawn  in  triumph  through  the  streets  of 
Alexandria.  Charlotte  smiled  to  herself.  A  few 
minutes  later  they  reached  the  Piazza  della  Signoria 
and  Paddy  was  deposited  with  their  baggage  as 
anchor  in  the  Loggia  de  Lanzi. 

O*-f 

It  was  not  until  a  month  later  that  Paddy  and 
Charlotte  found  themselves  established  permanently. 
They  had  progressed  from  one  pension  to  another,  a 
blood  feud  being  established  at  each  between  Paddy 
and  the  landlady.  Prices  were  high;  money  went 
at  an  alarming  rate.  Charlotte  had  in  mind  some 
two  or  three  rooms,  such  as  they  had  had  in  Me- 


GIBBETED  GODS  267 

Dougal  Street,  where  they  could  do  their  own  house- 
keeping. Exactly  the  sort  of  thing  she  was  looking 
for  could  not  be  found  for  all  her  indefatigable 
efforts.  Each  day  she  demanded  less,  was  willing  to 
pay  more.  Paddy  was  all  for  a  couple  of  rooms  over 
some  goldsmith's  shop  on  the  Ponte  Vecchio.  She 
thought  it  would  be  romantic  to  live  on  a  bridge 
and  she  liked  the  pent  roofs  all  covered  with  ground- 
sel. Then  one  day  she  had  wandered  up  the  Via 
Guicciardini,  gay  and  festive  with  its  bright-colored 
fruit  shops.  The  matter  was  settled  then  and  there 
as  far  as  Paddy  went.  They  must  find  a  place  on  the 
Via  Guicciardini.  It  was  narrow,  it  was  dirty,  it 
was  noisy;  granted  all  that,  but  it  was  vivid!  A 
happy  inspiration,  as  it  proved,  for  it  was  upon 
the  Via  Guicciardini  that  Charlotte  encountered 
Francesca  Salvati,  and  it  was  under  Francesca's 
roof  they  were  to  find  their  haven.  Francesca  had 
been  their  second  cook  during  the  last  two  years  of 
their  stay  in  Florence.  The  meeting  was  a  happy 
one,  of  voluble  effusion  on  Francesca's  part,  of 
lengthy  explanation  on  Charlotte's.  They  had  lost 
all  their  money;  they  had  lost  all  their  money. 
Only  by  undue  emphasis  on  this  salient  fact  could 
Francesca  be  made  to  understand  what  Charlotte 
was  after.  Two  rooms,  here,  in  the  Via  Guicciar- 
dini!  From  Francesca's  point  of  view,  Charlotte 
had  to  admit,  the  thing  was  astounding. 


268  GIBBETED  GODS 

With  the  discovery  that  Francesca  herself  now 
owned  a  house  in  which  there  were  two  rooms  vacant, 
Charlotte's  spirits  rose.  Her  enthusiasm  carried  her 
down  the  street  with  Francesca  to  the  house  in 
question.  She  was  glad  for  Paddy's  sake  that  the 
fruit-shop  underneath  was  as  bright  and  vivid  as  any 
the  block  could  boast.  She  was  glad,  too,  for 
Paddy's  sake,  of  the  dark-eyed,  queer  little  children 
that  swarmed  about  the  sidewalk  and  in  the  hall. 
Her  enthusiasm  carried  her  even  up  the  three  flights 
of  crazy,  dirty  stairs,  but  when  the  rooms  were  dis- 
closed she  did  give  a  little  gasp  of  dismay.  Her 
recent  searches  had  prepared  her  somewhat,  but  not 
entirely.  Francesca  had  said  of  the  larger  room, 
"She  is  warm  and  sunny."  Well,  she  was,  thanks 
to  an  afternoon  exposure,  but  her  good  points  ended 
there.  Charlotte  looked  about.  The  walls  were 
gray  and  scarred.  A  crude  wooden  table  and  some 
chairs,  a  rusty  charcoal-stove,  a  couple  of  mattresses 
on  the  floor  made  up  the  sum  total  of  the  furnishings, 
held,  Francesca  explained,  because  the  former  tenant 
had  failed  to  pay.  It  was,  undeniably,  a  sordid 
little  place.  Still — Charlotte  hesitated.  It  was 
cheap,  for  one  thing,  and  her  money  was  at  a  decided 
ebb.  Then,  too,  she  was  at  one  with  Paddy  in  her 
utter  abhorrence  of  middle-class  tradition,  and  the 
smug  pretentiousness  of  boarding-house  life  was  be- 
ginning to  irk  her  horribly.  She  thought  of  their 


GIBBETED  GODS  269 

present  landlady;  then  she  looked  at  Francesca. 
Francesca's  dark  eyes  were  full  of  a  quick  intelli- 
gence; full,  too,  of  an  honest  sympathy  as,  in  re- 
sponse to  her  question  of  Hendy,  Charlotte  had  told 
her  of  his  death.  That  was  the  turning-point.  The 
bargain  was  struck;  the  furniture,  excluding  the 
mattresses,  was  purchased.  Charlotte  breathed  a 
sigh  of  relief,  but  she  could  still  have,  as  she  took 
a  last  survey  of  the  place,  a  sharp  wonder  as  to 
whether  this  could  ever  be  made,  really,  home. 

But  it  was  home  very  shortly  with  those  distinctive 
marks  of  Charlotte's  and  Paddy's  personalities  to 
make  it  so.  Charlotte's  smocks  and  Paddy's  dirty 
aprons  were  soon  hanging  on  a  couple  of  nails  behind 
the  door.  The  tea-things  were  on  a  shelf  back  of  the 
stove,  a  strip  of  carpet  on  the  floor.  Charlotte's 
easels  were  scattered  about,  a  few  of  her  pictures 
on  the  walls.  Paddy's  work-basket  with  its  tangle 
of  spools,  its  broken  scissors,  and  its  thimble  three 
sizes  too  big,  managed  to  get  itself  tipped  over  once 
or  twice  a  day,  with  the  result  that  Paddy  was  con- 
tinually groveling  under  something  or  behind  some- 
thing for  something  as  to  the  identity  of  which  she 
was  usually  rather  vague.  Still,  just  the  presence  of 
the  work-basket  helped.  Then  there  were  the  beds, 
new  beds.  Some  of  the  old  sofa  pillows  had  been, 
oddly  enough,  packed  by  mistake  in  Paddy's  trunk. 
So  these  with  the  trusty  steamer  rug  converted  Char- 


270  GIBBETED  GODS 

lotte's  bed  into  a  couch.  The  general  effect  of 
things  was  rather  good,  so  they  both  decided,  and 
they  proceeded  forthwith  to  settle  down  to  life  as  it 
was  lived  in  the  Via  Guicciardini.  This,  they  were 
quick  to  discover,  was  of  a  different  order  from  the 
life  of  McDougal  Street.  In  New  York  Charlotte 
had  known  no  one  in  her  own  house;  even  Paddy's 
knowledge  of  the  other  tenants  had  been  a  super- 
ficial one.  A  general  distrust  of  'one's  neighbor  pre- 
vailed. But  here,  in  Francesca's  house,  they  were  all 
one  big  overgrown  family,  as  incapable  of  meanness 
as  they  were  of  subtle  reservation.  One  just  lived — 
that  was  all  there  was*  to  it — a  community  existence 
of  open-minded  kindliness.  As  they  all  shared  the 
one  faucet  in  the  house,  so  they  shared  one  another's 
aches  and  pains  and  sorrows  and  joys.  It  had  been 
Hendy's  contention,  always,  that  the  lower-class 
Florentine  was  not  the  wary,  suspicious  fellow  of 
tradition  and  Charlotte  was  to  discover  with  the 
years  that  Hendy  was  right. 

Hardly  moved  in  that  first  day,  Charlotte  and 
Paddy  were  made  to  feel  as  one  with  the  rest.  It 
is  possible  Francesca  had  spread  something  of  their 
story  and  the  romantic  that  exists  in  all  Italian 
bosoms  had  been  stirred,  with  the  result  of  a  greater 
cordiality  than  usual.  Mrs.  Sardelli  (the  "Mrs." 
was  Paddy's  idea),  ample,  beaming,  with  a  half- 
dozen  little  Sardellis  peeping  around  her  skirts,  had 


GIBBETED  GODS  271 

come  up  to  offer  for  supper  some  fruit  too  ripe  to 
save  for  the  next  day's  sale.  Mr.  Sardelli  had  ar- 
rived later,  after  his  rounds,  a  scissors-grinder  on  his 
back.  His  offer  to  sharpen  for  nothing  any  of  their 
knives  or  scissors  was  an  honest  one.  Antonio 
Integlia,  a  handsome  swarthy  youth,  brought  water 
upstairs  to  them,  and  Maria  Cappacelli  told  them  all 
about  her  sick  baby  and  her  husband,  who  was  in 
jail.  Francesca  lent  them  things  they  had  forgotten 
to  buy  and  poor  old  Giacomo  Amaruso  offered  to 
play  for  them  on  his  violin  when  they  got  sad  and 
homesick  for  America. 

So  it  was  Charlotte  and  Paddy  were  absorbed 
completely  into  the  life  of  that  little  tenement  house 
in  the  street  of  the  fruit-venders.  Before  the  first 
winter  was  over  they  had  become  essentially  a  part 
of  the  system.  All  the  members  of  the  household 
reacted  in  about  the  same  way  to  the  cold  and  the 
heat,  the  sunshine  and  the  rain.  They  talked  about 
the  high  price  of  food,  the  leak  in  the  roof,  the 
coming  festival. 

Charlotte's  force  of  character  had  made  itself  felt 
from  the  very  beginning,  with  the  result  that  every- 
body grew  to  depend  upon  her.  Her  word  was  law ; 
her  decisions  final.  They  were  always  a  little  bit 
afraid  of  her,  although  sure  of  her  help.  It  was 
Charlotte  who  got  out  of  bed  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  to  heat  water  when  Maria's  baby  had  con- 


272  GIBBETED  GODS 

vulsions.  It  was  Charlotte  who  lent  old  Giacomo 
money  to  buy  a  new  violin  string.  It  was  Charlotte 
who  made  short  work  of  Anton  when  he  was  drunk, 
sent  him  to  bed  and  curtly  told  him  to  stay  there 
till  he  'd  sobered  up. 

But,  despite  the  recognition  of  Charlotte  as  a 
power,  it  was  Paddy  who  was  the  prime  favorite, 
for  it  was  Paddy  who  was  the  prime  mover  in  all 
festive  occasions,  of  which  there  were  many. 
Paddy's  particular  genius  had  a  wide  range  in  the 
Via  Guicciardini. 

Within  the  first  week  after  their  arrival  Paddy 
and  Charlotte  had  been  bidden  to  the  wedding-feast 
of  the  eldest  Sardelli  girl,  Baptista.  A  gay  occasion 
of  music  and  Chianti  and  little  cakes  with  caraway 
seeds  in  them,  and  melons.  The  guests  sat  about  on 
the  floor  and  amused  one  another  with  tricks  or 
songs  or  told  wild,  impossible  stories  of  medieval 
adventure.  Everybody  drank  a  little  too  much, 
with  th*e  result  that  at  the  end  of  the  evening  there 
were  more  performers  than  onlookers. 

Paddy  was  enchanted.  A  rare  people,  these 
Florentines!  From  that  time  on  her  greatest  in- 
genuity was  exercised  in  thinking  up  occasions  when 
she,  too,  might  have  a  party.  Thanksgiving — 
Christmas!  But  Charlotte  drew  the  line  at  April 
Fool's  and  Arbor  Day.  Three  parties  a  week  the 
block  averaged,  in  celebration  of  some  saint  or  other, 


GIBBETED  GODS  273 

so  that  in  the  end  Paddy  wearied  of  the  gaiety. 
Charlotte  occasionally  looked  in  on  one  of  the  Sar- 
delli  gatherings,  but  that  was  all.  These  people 
interested  her,  but  she  had  a  feeling  her  presence 
dampened  their  hilarity. 

It  was  not  until  the  second  year  of  their  stay 
in  Florence  that  Paddy  really  came  into  her  own. 
The  children  of  the  neighborhood  adored  her  and 
she  always  had  four  or  five  in  train  wherever  she 
went. 

"Why  don't  you  teach  them  English?"  Charlotte 
asked  one  day. 

Paddy's  enthusiasm  was  fired  at  once;  her  real 
mission  in  life  was  discovered. 

Charlotte  got  her  a  blackboard  and  a  quantity  of 
chalk  and  the  sessions  began.  Her  "University  Ex- 
tension" as  Paddy  called  it!  A  dozen  to  twenty 
tots  collected  at  any  hour  of  the  morning  or  after- 
noon, coming  and  going  at  will.  They  all  sat  cross- 
legged  on  the  floor  while  Paddy  perched  on  a  high 
stool  in  front  of  them.  Such  a  frolic !  Paddy  drew 
pigs  and  donkeys  and  elephants  on  the  blackboard 
and  the  children  shouted  out  the  names  of  them. 
She  wrote  words,  which  they  read  off  in  loud  chorus. 
She  told  them  stories  of  fairies  and  dragons  and  prin- 
cesses. She  moralized  about  good  little  boys 
and  bad  little  boys.  They  counted  by  fives  and  tens 
and  said  the  one  table  over  till  they  were  hoarse. 


274  GIBBETED  GODS 

But  the  thing  they  all  liked  best  was  for  Paddy  to 
read  them  "Alice  in  Wonderland."  She  read  it  half 
in  English  and  half  in  Italian  and  they  all  rocked 
back  and  forth  and  screamed  with  laughter.  Not 
that  they  understood  much  of  what  was  going  on, 
but  Paddy's  mirth  was  their  mirth,  Paddy's  hilarity 
theirs.  They  repeated  the  verses  after  her  till  they 
knew  them  by  heart;  they  copied  her  dramatic  ren- 
dering of  them. 

"You  are  old,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 
"And  your  hair  has  become  very  white; 
And  yet  you  incessantly  stand  on  your  head — 
Do  you  think,  at  your  age,  it  is  right?" 

This  was  usually  the  cue  for  several  of  the  expert 
gymnasts  to  stand  on  their  heads.  Paddy  en- 
couraged this,  believing  in  physical  as  well  as 
mental  development.  There  was  nothing  pedantic 
about  Paddy. 

"Turtle  Soup"  became  such  a  popular  ditty  that 
Paddy  used  to  save  it  for  festival  days  and  Sundays. 

Beautiful  Soup,  so  rich  and  green, 
Waiting  in  a  hot  tureen! 


Beau — ootiful  Soo — oop  ! 
Beau — ootiful  Soo — oop ! 
Soo — oop  of   the  e — e — evening, 
Beautiful,  beautiful  Soup!" 


GIBBETED  GODS  275 

This  with  the  proper  gustatory  accompaniment 
was  really  a  brilliant  achievement. 

Then  the  whole  class  was  promoted  and  they  went 
on  to  "Through  the  Looking-Glass." 

"The  time  has  come,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"To  talk  of  many  things: 
Of  shoes — and  ships — and  sealing-wax — 

Of  cabbages — and  kings — 
And  why  the  sea  is  boiling  hot — 

And  whether  pigs  have  wings." 

On  rainy  days  they  played  "Alice."  That  is,  one 
was  the  Mad  Hatter  and  another  the  Dormouse. 
Then  there  were  Bill  and  the  Duchess  and  the 
Walrus.  The  tiny  tots  were  the  oysters.  When 
they  got  tired  of  that  they  sang  songs.  A  jolly 
little  class,  surely!  Charlotte  gave  them  parties, 
when  they  had  all  the  spumoni  they  could  eat  and 
were  permitted  to  bring  their  cats  and  dogs.  Such 
occasions  were  hectic,  but,  as  Paddy  said,  they  were 
"of  a  humanity." 

Another  reason  for  Paddy's  popularity  in  the 
district  was  her  prodigality  of  promise.  She 
promised  Giacomo  a  new  violin,  Anton  new  shoes. 
Each  of  the  Sardelli  girls  that  was  married  Paddy 
promised  to  equip  with  "linen  and  silver."  The 
fact  that  her  promises  were  never  fulfilled  made  no 
difference  in  her  friends'  conception  of  her  gener- 


276  GIBBETED  GODS 

osity.  Of  an  evening  when  the  whole  household 
collected  on  the  sidewalk  and  sat  about  on  empty 
fruit-boxes,  it  was  Paddy's  rapid  fire  comment  on 
the  passers-by  that  provoked  the  greatest  mirth. 

Perhaps  Paddy's  stanchest  friend  was  Garibaldi, 
a  monkey  belonging  to  a  hand-organ  man  next  door. 
Baldy  had  singled  Paddy  out  at  once  as  a  kindred 
spirit;  the  friendship  that  followed  was  a  satisfying 
one.  Paddy  talked  to  him  of  Boule  de  Suif,  the 
harsh  lines  of  whose  desertion  had  been  softened  by 
time.  Paddy  spoke  of  Boule  now  in  the  hushed  tones 
usually  reserved  for  the  mention  of  the  dead.  With 
his  head  on  one  side  and  his  little  red  hat  in  his  hand, 
Baldy  would  sit  and  listen  indefinitely  with  just  the 
right  degree  of  subdued  deference. 

Sunday  afternoons  Paddy,  with  her  children  at 
her  heels,  walked  in  the  Cascine.  They  watched 
the  games  of  pallone  and  the  horses  going  to  the 
races,  Paddy  expounding  meanwhile  on  the  evils  of 
all  betting.  Then  there  were  the  Mardi  Gras  fetes 
when  Paddy  and  her  brood  rushed  about  from 
morning  till  night,  marching  and  countermarching 
with  the  parade  and  screaming  loudly  at  the 
clowns. 

Yes,  indeed,  life  as  it  was  lived  in  the  Via  Guic- 
crardini  was  full  and  rich  of  event,  vivid,  kaleido- 
scopic. Paddy  was  possessed  of  an  infinite  content. 

Charlotte  watched  Paddy  and,  as  time  went  on 


GIBBETED  GODS  277 

and  £he  was  conscious  of  playing  a  smaller  and 
smaller  part  in  Paddy's  life,  a  numb  sort  of  resent- 
ment settled  in  her  heart.  She  wanted  Paddy  to  be 
happy;  she  wanted  Paddy  to  be  content.  But  she, 
herself,  had  wanted  to  be  the  direct  cause  of  that 
happiness,  that  content.  Only  so,  in  filling  a 
genuine  need,  could  she  work  out  her  problem,  coulb! 
she  make  reparation  for  the  tragic  mistakes  she  had 
blundered  into.  The  thought  of  her  mission  to 
Paddy  had  been  the  one  thing  to  sustain  her  in  those 
terrible  weeks  that  followed  Roger's  wedding.  But 
now,  face  to  face  with  the  stark  fact  that  she  was, 
after  all,  only  incidental  to  Paddy's  happiness,  she 
could  no  longer  find  sanctuary  from  the  bitterness 
of  her  remorse.  She  became  the  prey  of  a  restless 
depression  that  found  relief  in  nothing.  She 
haunted  the  galleries  and  worked  at  her  painting  in  a 
fitful,  erratic  way.  She  tired  herself  out  with  long 
walks  and  arduous  climbs. 

Very  early  that  first  autumn  she  had  paid  a  visit 
to  the  comtesse's  villa.  As  she  climbed  the  path  that 
wound  between  the  drooping  trees,  she  had  never 
felt  more  lonely  and  desolate.  The  villa,  itself,  as 
she  came  upon  it,  confessed  frankly  its  dilapidation. 
Picturesque  it  was,  to  be  sure,  but  as  Charlotte 
surveyed  it  she  was  conscious  only  of  the  waste  and 
useless  decay  of  it  all.  The  comtesse  had  died 
suddenly  in  Monte  Carlo,  so  the  old  caretaker  told 


278  GIBBETED  GODS 

her;  the  heirs  had  never  seen  the  place  and  took  no 
interest  in  it. 

"I  lived  here  once,"  Charlotte  said,  "for  seven 
years." 

The  old  man  was  kind  and  curious.  He  let  Char- 
lotte into  the  house.  It  was  dark,  the  tall,  narrow 
windows  shuttered  tightly,  and  there  was  dust  fil- 
tered over  everything.  Charlotte  went  through 
every  room,  the  echo  of  her  footsteps,  hollow  and 
muffled,  following  her  about.  The  house  was  ex- 
actly as  Paddy  and  Hendy  had  left  it  the  morning  of 
their  departure  so  many  years  ago.  And  upstairs  in 
the  big  room  that  had  been  her  studio,  she  came  a- 
cross  a  portfolio  with  some  of  her  earliest  charcoal 
sketches  in  it.  They  were  smooched  and  dirty,  but 
she  recognized  Hendy's  firm  touch  in  some  of  the 
corrections. 

When  she  came  downstairs  she  went  out  on  the 
terrace.  Perhaps  there  was  something  in  her  bright 
eyes  and  white  restraint  that  told  her  story  of  tragic 
recollection,  for  the  old  caretaker  'was  unduly  kind, 
offering  her  the  hospitality  of  the  ol3  place  at  any 
time. 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  Charlotte  asked  in  a  husky 
voice.  "Might  I  paint — here*?"  She  indicated 
the  parapet.  Her  eyes  rested  a  moment  on  the 
valley  below,  the  long  sweep  of  the  Arno.  Then 


GIBBETED  GODS  279 

she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burst  into  tears. 

It  was,  then,  for  Charlotte  to  find  in  her  old  home 
her  greatest  refuge.  She  spent  a  part  of  each  day 
there,  often  a  whole  day.  When  it  was  fine  she 
painted  on  the  terrace;  when  it  was  rainy,  she  hud- 
dled in  the  drawing-room,  where  the  old  caretaker 
made  a  fire  for  her  and  brought  her  fruit  to  eat. 
It  was  a  refuge,  yes,  from  the  noisy  streets  and 
crowded  galleries,  but  it  is  a  question  if  the  complete  : 
isolation,  the  dreary  loneliness  did  not  make  her  the 
easier  prey  to  her  apprehensions.  Those  first  few 
years  in  Florence  were  full  of  the  quality  of  a  tense, 
tragic  waiting,  a  ghastly  expectancy.  The  image 
of  Roger  as  his  eyes  met  hers  at  the  altar  haunted 
her  always  and  entangled  hopelessly  with  that  image 
was  another  of  no  less  poignant  significance,  the 
image  of  Dolly  as  she  had  found  her  that  night  in 
her  room,  dressing  to  go  away.  Dolly,  her  face 
flushed,  her  voice  shrill,  weakly,  pathetically  the 
victim  of  the  evening's  toasts ! 

There  had  been  letters  from  Dolly,  two  or  three 
in  the  beginning,  and  some  clippings  about  the  new 
studio.  Philip  wrote  occasionally,  all  about  him- 
self. He  'd  quarreled  with  Cassimir,  had  gone  over 
to  his  Pittsburgh  friend,  Tony  Welsh.  Tony  was  a 
fine  fellow  and  with  his,  Philip's,  help,  should  get 
on  in  society.  Yes,  he  'd  try  to  remember  to  send 
Paddy  papers,  and  some  magazines. 


280  GIBBETED  GODS 

It  was  through  these  papers  and  periodicals  as 
they  came  at  fitful  intervals  that  Charlotte  was  able 
to  follow  the  thread  of  Dolly's  story.  The  simple 
chronicle  it  was,  of  tragic  heritage  and  pathetic 
weakness.  Poor  little  Dolly!  She  had  begun 
bravely  to  work  out  her  vision  of  Recamier  triumphs. 
There  had  been  many  expensive  affairs  at  the  studio 
that  first  year.  Roger's  pictures  became  the  reigning 
vogue.  An  ominous  lull  followed.  Then  with  a 
sweep  of  tenderness  Charlotte  read  of  Dolly's  baby 
born  dead.  She  dashed  off  at  once  a  note  of  impul- 
sive tenderness.  The  answer  came,  telling  of 
Dolly's  subsequent  illness.  A  querulous,  complain- 
ing little  note  it  was.  The  doctor  had  ordered 
her  to  Palm  Beach  and  she  did  n't  want  to  go 
at  all.  Buchanan  had  given  her  his  town  house 
and  she  was  having  it  done  over.  A  year  later 
Dolly's  second  baby  was  born  and  lived  just  a  week. 
Charlotte  did  not  write  this  time.  After  that 
"Town  Topics"  took  up  the  tale, — a  miserable,  sor- 
did tale  of  surrendered  weakness  and  indulgence. 
Ill  health  had  broken  down  Dolly's  last  feeble  resist- 
ance. There  were  a  half-dozen  names  connected 
with  hers  those  first  few  years.  Larry  Wyckham, 
Tony  Van  Echt.  And  there  were  hints  of  frequent 
sojourns  at  a  fashionable  sanatorium  outside  of 
Philadelphia. 

Roger's  name  had  long  since  ceased  to  be  men* 


GIBBETED  GODS  281 

tioned  in  the  most  casual  art  notices.  There  came 
the  time  when  Charlotte  could  stand  it  no  longer; 
when  papers  came  from  the  States  she  destroyed 
them  at  once. 

So  four  dragging  years  went  by.  Then  one  day 
in  the  crowded  Piazza  della  Signoria,  Charlotte  came 
face  to  face  with  Cassimir,  a  young  wife  in  train. 
The  girl  was  one  of  the  new  type  of  debutantes, 
her  short  hair  standing  on  end,  her  clothes  to  her 
knees,  her  face  daubed  with  paint.  She  was  like  a 
grotesque  doll  with  a  fixed  smile  on  its  face.  Char- 
lotte could  find  nothing  to  say  to  her.  But,  despite 
the  sudden  pang  of  this,  her  first  actual  contact  with 
the  old  life,  Charlotte  was  genuinely  glad  to  see 
Cassimir.  He  was  exactly  the  same  as  the  old 
Cassimir,  who,  she  recalled  with  a  smile,  had  pro- 
posed to  her  the  night  of  Dolly's  wedding.  He  had 
hundreds  of  things  to  tell  her  now.  He  would  have 
looked  her  up  before,  but  some  one  had  told  him  she 
and  Paddy  were  living  on  the  Riviera.  He  had 
pictured  her  there  in  the  midst  of  the  winter's  gaiety. 

"You  were  cut  out  to  be  gay,  Charlotte!"  he 
laughed. 

She  shook  her  head  and  spoke  of  her  devotion  to 
her  art.  He  discounted  this.  Then  he  went  on  to 
tell  her  the  news.  There  were  names  that  meant 
nothing  to  her;  faces  and  incidents  had  blurred  sur- 
prisingly with  time.  But  she  feigned  a  lively  inter- 


282  GIBBETED  GODS 

est  in  it  all.  The  Tim  Watsons  were  divorced  and 
Mrs.  Tim  was  going  to  marry  Tony  Van  Echt. 
Billy  Dunscomb!  Ah,  that  brought  her  up  short 
with  a  keen  pang.  Billy  had  been  killed  in  an  auto- 
mobile accident  six  months  before.  Uncle  Bu- 
chanan was  n't  at  all  well.  "He  '11  go  off  like  this," 

o  ' 

pronounced  Cass,  with  a  snap  of  his  fingers.  "We 
Laurence  men  all  do." 

"Dolly*?"  Cassimer  shook  his  head.  "She's 
drinking,  you  know."  The  words  were  stark,  but 
his  tone  showed  his  compassion.  "Aunt  Dolly  went 
the  same  way,"  he  continued.  "Only,  her  mind  was 
affected.  That  }s  what  Uncle  Buck's  afraid  of  for 
Dolly.  Roger 's  been  a  brick,  but,  after  all,  what 
can  a  man  do"?  He  's  sticking  it  out,  though.  Puri- 
tan sense  of  duty,  I  suppose !  No,  he 's  given  his 
painting  up  entirely — " 

Charlotte  got  away  at  last.  Cassimir  was  leaving 
at  noon  for  Vallombrosa,  so  she  was  spared  the  neces- 
sity of  seeing  him  again.  With  bent  head  she 
crossed  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  then,  with  dragging  steps 
she  made  her  way  out  to  the  Roman  Gate  and  so  on 
to  the  villa. 

When  she  returned  home  late  that  afternoon, 
Paddy  met  her  with  the  usual  bright  look  and  the  re- 
mark "Back  so  soon?"  Charlotte  hesitated  as  to 
whether  or  not  she  should  tell  Paddy  of  her  meeting 


GIBBETED  GODS  283 

with  Cass.  But  no,  why  should  she?  The  outside 
world  had  long  since  ceased  to  exist  for  Paddy;  the 
Via  Guicciardini  was  her  life.  She  had  even  failed 
to  notice  that  letters  from  Philip  no  longer  came. 

It  was  soon  after  the  meeting  with  Cassimir  that 
Charlotte  was  confronted  with  the  necessity  of  doing 
something  to  eke  out  her  income.  There  were  two 
possibilities, — to  conduct  tourist  parties  through  the 
galleries  or  to  take  on  pupils  in  painting.  The  latter 
course  seemed  the  less  irking  in  prospect.  She  was 
engaged  to  teach  two  little  English  children.  The 
compensation  was  a  small  one,  but  her  need  made  it 
impossible  for  her  to  dictate  terms.  She  hated  her 
work  passionately.  The  blunt  fingers  and  un- 
inspired eyes  of  the  children  exasperated  her  beyond 
measure,  but  she  toiled  on  and  did  not  spare  herself. 
Perhaps  the  most  poignantly  tragic  thing  those  years 
in  Florence  held  for  Charlotte  was  the  slow  but 
steady  increase  in  the  allowance  she  was  forced  to 
give  Paddy.  The  Doctor  had  warned  her  that 
Paddy's  needs  would  increase  and  she  had  accepted  it 
vaguely.  But  now  she  had  reached  the  point  where 
she  could  calculate  almost  to  the  day  when  Paddy 
would  demand  on  one  gay  pretext  or  another  a  few 
more  lire  every  month.  It  was  as  if  Charlotte  had 
her  finger  close-pressed  on  the  pulse  of  Paddy's  ur- 
gency. 


284  GIBBETED  GODS 

However,  Paddy  was  the  same  blithe  spirit  as  of 
yore.  Her  reactions  were  about  the  same.  There 
were  the  times  when  she  shut  herself  in  her  room  and 
Charlotte  was  obliged  to  send  away  the  disconsolate 
children,  the  still  more  disconsolate  Baldy,  who  was 
forever  scratching  at  the  door.  But  these  lapses 
were  no  more  frequent  than  they  had  been  five  years 
before.  It  was  in  Paddy's  physical  condition  that 
the  growth  of  the  disorder  was  most  cruelly  manifest. 
There  were  days  when  Charlotte  could  tell  to  look  at 
her  how  ill  she  was.  Her  color  was  ghastly  and 
there  was  a  dumb  pain  in  her  glazed  eyes,  but  not 
once  did  a  whimper  escape  her.  There  was  the  usual 
raillery,  the  quick  comment.  When  her  endurance 
was  at  an  end,  she  would  go  to  her  own  room,  that 
was  all.  She  began  to  have  trouble  with  her  teeth ; 
they  dropped  out  one  by  one.  That,  too,  was  a  part 
of  her  disorder.  She  gave  up  her  pilgrimages  about 
the  city  and  contented  herself  with  sitting  in  the  sun 
in  front  of  the  fruit-stand.  The  children  tired  her, 
although  she  never  refused  them.  The  stairs  were 
an  effort. 

One  day  Charlotte  found  her  in  a  faint  outside  the 
door.  Weeping  and  frightened,  she  carried  her  into 
the  room.  Paddy's  eyes  were  rolled  up  in  her  head 
and  she  was  gasping  for  air.  Charlotte  threw  open 
the  windows  and  sprinkled  water  on  her  face. 
Then,  with  some  confused  idea  of  undressing  her, 


GIBBETED  GODS  285 

she  loosened  her  waist  and  attempted  to  slip  one  arm 
from  the  sleeve.  But  at  the  sight  of  that  poor  sore 
arm  Charlotte  had  staggered  back  in  a  sick  dismay. 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  trembling  hands  and 
began  to  sob. 

A  second  later  Paddy's  eyelids  fluttered  and  she 
sat  up  with  a  jerk.  She  took  the  situation  in  at  a 
glance. 

"Did  I  faint?"  she  asked  abruptly,  and  when 
Charlotte,  kneeling  tearfully  by  her  side,  admitted  it, 
Paddy  had  shown  the  deepest  disgust. 

"Well,"  she  said  derisively,  "to  quote  our  friend 
Falstaff,  I  am  a  bunch  of  radish !" 

However,  it  was  not  the  weakening  of  Paddy's 
physical  force  that  caused  Charlotte  her  greatest  suf- 
fering, but  the  gradual  dulling  of  Paddy's  brilliant 
mind,  the  blurring  of  her  once  keen  intellect. 
Words  slipped  from  her.  She  was  uncertain  of 
names  and  dates  and  figures ;  she  confused  her  facts. 
Books,  authors,  composers — her  range  was  as  wide  as 
ever,  but  details  merged  ludicrously.  Once,  when 
they  were  talking  of  William  Morris,  Paddy  had 
recited  in  all  fluency: 
"The  hound  of  heaven  looked  out  onto  the  world  beneath.'* 

Poor  Paddy! 

In  the  spring  of  that  fifth  year  in  Florence  Char- 
lotte contracted  some  sort  of  malignant  fever.  Her 


286  GIBBETED  GODS 

superb  vigor  had  long  since  been  forfeit  to  her  reck- 
lessness. She  fatigued  herself  with  long  walks;  she 
exposed  herself  to  every  condition  of  weather;  she 
paid  no  attention  to  her  food.  She  was  thinner;  at 
times  when  her  color  ebbed  she  was  almost  gaunt. 
She  disregarded  her  appearance  entirely.  There 
were  days,  weeks,  when  she  did  not  look  in  the  glass. 

Her  fever  dragged  through  long  weeks,  for  she 
lacked  the  force  to  resist  its  hold.  All  of  the 
kind  people  of  the  neighborhood  came  and  sat  by 
her  bedside  and  gossiped  with  Paddy.  The  children 
stood  on  tiptoe  and  looked  at  her  with  a  curious  awe, 
as  if  she  had  been  dead. 

The  loss  of  her  pupils,  that  was  the  big  tragedy  of 
the  illness  to  Charlotte.  What  should  she  do  now? 
What  could  she  do  now1?  She  kept  her  purse  under 
her  pillow  and  gave  Paddy  a  little  money  each  day 
for  their  needs.  The  middle  of  June,  when  she  had 
recovered  sufficiently  to  drag  herself  up  each  day, 
she  faced  the  stark  fact  that  she  had  only  about 
twenty  lire  to  last  her  until  the  tenth  of  July,  when 
she  would  receive  her  next  quarterly.  She  had  often 
thought  with  terror  of  just  this  emergency.  Her 
pride  would  never  suffer  her  to  call  on  her  friends. 
As  to  that,  they  were  all  living  on  a  starvation  wage, 
.anyway. 

Twenty  lire !     It  did  n't  seem  possible.     Still,  it 


GIBBETED  GODS  287 

could  be  done.  That  dominating  force  within  her 
that  would  not  admit  of  obstacles  asserted  itself  now. 
She  felt  suddenly  stronger  and  better.  Twenty  lire ! 
Pretty  close  calculation,  but  it  could  be  done.  It 
must  be  done.  She  took  Paddy  into  consultation. 
Twenty  lire!  Paddy  chuckled  at  the  absurdity  of 
it.  But,  as  the  thing  in  her  mind  took  on  the  nature 
of  a  delightful  underhanded  conspiracy,  she  joined 
in  with  enthusiasm. 

"Now  mind,  not  even  a  crust  to  Baldy,"  Charlotte 
exhorted.  "Then  when  the  check  comes  we'll  have 
a  party — " 

It  was  surprising  how  Paddy  rose,  this  time,  to  the 
occasion.  Put  on  her  mettle,  she  showed  herself 
capable  of  the  shrewdest  calculation.  Each  day  she 
came  home  with  the  most  remarkable  assortment  of 
eatables  "picked  up  for  a  mere  nothing."  As  the 
tenth  approached  they  found  to  their  satisfaction 
they  would  actually  have  two  or  three  lire  left  over. 
"A  good  idea,"  said  Charlotte.  "The  check  might 
be  late."  Their  fare  was  frugal,  of  course,  but  it  was 
sufficient,  and  they  were  sustained  further  by  visions 
of  the  coming  party.  This  party  had  gradually 
taken  on  the  definite  form  of  just  a  little  dinner  for 
the  two  of  them.  Paddy's  suggestion  it  was,  and 
Charlotte  was  delighted.  The  conspiracy  had 
brought  Paddy  closer  to  her  than  she  had  been  for 


288  GIBBETED  GODS 

a  long  time.     Paddy  liked  to  talk  about  the  dinner. 

"What  shall  we  have*?"  she  would  ask 
ruminatively. 

Charlotte  would  reflect,  according  to  the  formula 
established. 

"Guinea-hen  and  artichokes,"  she  would  bring 
out  at  last. 

"The  sense  faints  picturing  it,"  Eaddy  would 
murmur  and  roll  her  eyes  ecstatically  to  heaven. 

On  the  tenth  Charlotte  had  gone  for  the  mail  to 
the  discovery  that  her  check  was  not  there.  Thank 
God  for  those  extra  lire !  she  thought.  The  eleventh 
passed,  the  twelfth.  Charlotte  began  to  get  genu- 
inely alarmed.  Paddy,  too,  seemed  to  lose  her  head 
and  paced  the  floor,  throwing  out  random  sug- 
gestions. The  fifteenth  found  their  exchequer  quite 
empty.  On  the  seventeenth  Charlotte  bought  a  few 
things  at  a  neighboring  store.  She  knew  the  man. 
"I  don't  happen  to  have  the  money  with  me,"  she 
said.  "I  '11  bring  it  in  Monday." 

The  eighteenth  they  lived  on  fruit  from  Sardelli's. 

"I  '11  pay  in  the  morning,"  Charlotte  said  casually. 

She  went  upstairs  to  find  Paddy,  wild-eyed,  fan- 
ning herself  violently. 

"It 's  getting  on  my  nerves,"  she  cried.  "For 
Heaven's  sake,  cable  C.  O.  D." 

"But  where?"  Charlotte  asked. 

"Anywhere,   stupid  child!"   ,che  gasped.     "You 


GIBBETED  GODS  289 

can't  be  particular  and  finicky  in  an  emergency. 
Cable  Buck  or  Dolly  or  the  President  or  Joe  the  ice- 
man." 

Charlotte,  however,  would  not  admit  she  was 
beaten.  When  the  morning  of  the  next  day  brought 
forth  nothing,  she  talked  of  the  afternoon  mail. 
After  lunch,  which  consisted  of  some  baked  bananas, 
she  set  out  for  a  long  walk,  her  first  since  her  illness. 
It  looked  like  rain,  but  she  did  not  care.  Her  foot- 
steps turned  in  the  direction  of  the  villa.  She 
walked  briskly  and  by  the  time  she  had  turned  out 
of  the  Roman  Gate  her  nervous  apprehensions  had 
all  gone.  She  felt  of  a  certainty  the  check  would  be 
waiting  for  her  when  she  returned.  She  felt,  too, 
for  some  inexplicable  reason,  free  of  the  weight  of 
her  other  problems.  It  was  as  if  during  the  weeks  of 
her  illness,  the  intensity  of  her  spiritual  agony  had 
worked  to  its  own  relief.  As  she  turned  into  the  gate 
of  the  villa,  her  thoughts  were  all  of  the  future. 
Henceforth  she  would  exert  herself  in  earnest.  She 
would  get  more  pupils  and  make  money  so  that  never 
again  would  they  know  the  pinch  of  need.  She 
and  Paddy  would  go  to  Vallombrosa  occasionally 
and  they  would  both  have  new  coats. 

The  old  caretaker  saw  her  coming  and  came  down 
to  meet  her.  He  had  worried  over  her  prolonged 
absence,  was  solicitous  when  she  told  him  of  her 
illness.  He  gave  her  fruit  and  some  flowers.  She 


290  GIBBETED  GODS 

would  have  liked  to  linger  on  the  terrace  to  watch 
the  approaching  storm.  The  Arno  had  turned  from 
green  to  yellow  and  a  brooding  murk  hung  over  the 
mountains.  But  the  thought  of  the  check  and 
Paddy  and  the  dinner  drew  her  back  to  the  city. 

The  letter  was  there  at  the  post-office  as  she  had 
expected.  Just  one  of  those  miscarriages  of  foreign 
mail  that  occur  so  frequently ! 

"It 's  been  in  the  post-office  at  Genoa  for  ten 
days,"  the  man  behind  the  window  explained 
cheerfully. 

It  took  but  a  short  time  for  Charlotte  to  get  her 
money  at  Cook's,  to  find  the  proper  guinea-hen,  the 
artichokes,  the  bottle  of  wine.  Then,  loaded  down 
with  her  bundles,  she  burst  joyously  into  the  house. 
Just  in  time,  too,  for  a  dispute  was  being  staged  in 
the  lower  hall  and  there  was  obvious  need  of  a 
referee.  Francesca,  with  blazing  6yes  and  arms 
akimbo,  was  bearing  down  on  poor  Antonio,  who 
stood  in  sullen  defiance  with  his  back  to  the  wall. 
A  half-dozen  neighbors  were  gathered  about,  argu- 
ing, protesting,  gesticulating.  Charlotte's  entrance 
only  served  to  aggravate  the  excitement,  for  they  all 
started,  each  with  his  own  flow  of  volubility,  to  tell 
her  just  what  had  happened.  Francesca' s  pocket- 
book  with  ten  lire  in  it  had  been  stolen;  the  con- 
census of  opinion  was  that  Anton  had  stolen  it. 
That  was  what  it  came  down  to  in  the  end.  It  came 


GIBBETED  GODS  291 

down,  also,  to  the  fact  that  there  was  n't  a  particle 
of  evidence  against  Anton,  that  he  had  simply  put  in 
an  appearance  at  the  critical  moment  of  Fran- 
cesca's  spring.  Charlotte  gave  Anton  his  chance  of 
fair  denial.  He  took  it  in  all  solemnity.  "By 
Jesus!"  he  wound  up  in  deference  to  the 
nationality  of  his  protector.  It  seemed  convincing. 
Charlotte's  suggestion  of  a  stray  thief  from  outside 
now  diverted  their  wrath. 

"I  will  take  it  up  at  the  police-station,  to- 
morrow," she  said.  There  had  been  a  number  of 
smaller  thefts  in  the  house  recently  and  she  con- 
sidered it  time  the  matter  should  be  investigated 
properly.  She  opened  her  pocket-book. 

"How  much  was  it,  Francesca  *?"  she  asked. 

In  her  new  affluertce  she  could  afford  to  be  gener- 
ous. She  gave  Francesca  the  ten  lire,  and  another 
for  a  bottle  of  wine.  Anton  and  Francesca  went 
off  together.  Then  Charlotte  started  upstairs.  As 
she  passed  Francesca's  room,  directly  in  front  of  her 
own,  there  came  to  her  suddenly  a  swift  sharp  doubt 
that  yet  was  a  terrible  conviction.  Paddy!  A 
hot  anger  swept  her.  She  hurried  to  her  own  door 
an'd  opened  it.  Paddy  was  lying  on  the  couch,  her 
eyes  half  closed.  She  heard  Charlotte  come  in  and 
tried  valiantly  to  throw  off  the  coma  that  was  slowly 
stealing  over  her. 

"Hey  nonny,  nonny !"  she  cried  and  managed  to 


292  GIBBETED  GODS 

get  her  feet  free  of  the  steamer  rug.  Then  she 
struggled  clumsily  to  a  sitting-posture.  As  she  did 
so,  there  dropped  from  her  sagging  pocket  an  empty 
purse.  It  was  Francesca's.  As  her  eyes  met  Char- 
lotte's, her  face  twisted  itself  slowly  into  a  malignant 
smile. 

Ten  minutes  later  Charlotte,  weeping  and  sobbing, 
slammed  the  door  and  rushed  out  into  the  rain. 
Horror  of  the  thing  Paddy  had  done  was  confused 
with  a  certain  wild  regret  at  the  bitterness  of  the 
scene  between  them.  Paddy  had  been  in  her  most 
flippant  mood. 

"But  you  know,  Charley,  our  dear  Lord,  Him- 
self— Yes,  let's  see;  it  was  Barabbas.  Barabbas 
was  a  robber — so  why  run  lunatic  about  it?  The  in- 
cident is  not  without  precedent.  You  can  give  Fran- 
cesca  back  her  dirty  little  purse,  with  an  extra  lira 
or  two  to  shut  her  up." 

It  was  this  mocking  bravado  that  had  goaded 
Charlotte  on  to  a  blind  fury  that  took  into  account 
nothing  but  the  need  to  hurt. 

"How  can  I  do  anything,  how  can  I  get  anywhere, 
with  you  to  steal  and  lie  and  drag  me  down?"  So 
she  had  cried  out  in  her  violence, — bitter,  passionate 
words  that  haunted  her  as  she  plunged  on  in  the 
rain.  And  that  second's  sharp  glint  in  Paddy's  eyes 
before  the  old  mockery  closed  in  anew!  Had  her 
words  reached  Paddy?  But  what  if  they  had? 


GIBBETED  GODS  293 

She  tried  to  tell  herself  she  was  justified;  Paddy 
had  done  a  low,  criminal  thing.  But  the  wave  of 
wild  regret  surged  above  her  reason.  Little  choking 
sobs  burst  from  her  ever  and  again  as  she  stumbled 
on. 

It  was  a  terrible  night,  windy  and  stormy.  The 
Arno  was  swollen  and  washed  with  sullen  roar 
against  the  Ponte  Vecchio.  Charlotte's  umbrella 
wrestled  with  the  wind;  she  kept  tugging  at  it  with 
unconscious  resistance  as  she  went  on  and  on.  She 
followed  the  river  and  then  made  her  way 
through  the  blackness  up  to  the  Porta  San 
Giorgio.  As  she  turned  out  of  the  gate  a 
more  violent  gust  of  wind  swept  from  the 
open  and,  turning  her  umbrella  inside  out, 
wrenched  it  from  her  hands.  She  let  it  go.  Then, 
lowering  her  head  to  buffet  the  storm  unprotected, 
she  went  on.  How  many  hours  she  walked  she  did 
not  know.  She  knew  only  that  at  last  she  was  in  the 
little  cemetery  above  the  Porta  San  Miniato  where, 
huddled  on  a  grave-stone,  she  tried  to  think.  The 
rain  still  came  down  in  torrents.  She  was  soaked 
to  the  skin  and  her  teeth  chattered,  but  she  noticed 
nothing  of  her  discomfort.  Gradually  her  sobs 
became  less  violent,  her  tears  quieter.  The  thought 
of  Hendy  had  come  to  her  and,  as  always,  had 
softened  her  mood.  She  was  able  to  think  more 
clearly  now.  It  was  as  if  she  were  looking  at  it  all 


294  GIBBETED  GODS 

through  Hendy's  eyes,  with  Hendy's  tender  com- 
passion of  understanding.  She  was  able  to  see  the 
tragedy  of  fevered  suffering  these  last  weeks  had 
held  for  Paddy.  Paddy's  drugs  had  given  out. 
She  understood  it  all  now.  And  Paddy  had  had 
no  money  to  buy  more.  As  the  thing  unfolded 
itself  so  to  Charlotte's  vision,  she  could  attach  no 
blame  to  Paddy  for  her  theft.  Paddy  was  not 
responsible;  the  crime  was  Charlotte's  for  holding 
her  so. 

"How  can  I  do  anything,  how  can  I  get  anywhere, 
with  you  to  steal  and  lie  and  drag  me  down*?" 

Charlotte  faced  again  with  bitter  repudiation  those 
words,  so  unnecessary,  but,  above  all,  so  untrue. 
For  Charlotte  came  to  see,  as  she  sat  there  in  the  wet 
darkness,  that  Paddy  existed  for  her  exactly  as  she 
had  existed  in  her  childhood  days, — absolute,  su- 
preme, the  center  of  her  universe,  the  force  of  her 
life.  The  evils  into  which  Paddy's  disorder  had 
plunged  her  were  yet  incapable  of  tarnishing  the 
dazzling  brightness  of  that  early  image.  Paddy, 
the  perverse,  wayward  Paddy  she  had  disciplined 
and  watched  over  and  scolded  was  the  illusion  that 
time  had  created. 

Charlotte  felt  suddenly  comforted.  It  was  as 
if  she  had  needed  this  final  struggle  to  gain  a 
clear  vision,  a  vision  that  was  to  restore  her  faith 
and  so  give  her  courage  to  endure. 


GIBBETED  GODS  295 

But  if  it  was  the  image  of  Paddy  supreme  that 
lifted  her  so  strangely  to  her  new  realm  of  content, 
it  was  the  image  of  the  erring  Paddy  she  had  tried 
to  hurt  that  drew  her  at  last  in  all  tenderness  back 
to  the  city.  It  was  very  late,  but  so  detached  had 
she  and  Paddy  become  from  all  consideration  of  time 
that  she  expected  confidently  Paddy  would  be 
waiting  up  for  her  with  dinner  on  the  table.  Other 
scenes  of  this  sort  had  ended  so.  She  could  see  ex- 
actly how  it  would  be.  Paddy  would  greet  her  with 
some  absurd  bit  of  gossip  and  then  they  would  sit 
down  to  the  cheer  of  the  guinea-hen  and  the  arti- 
chokes and  the  bottle  of  wine.  Charlotte  smiled  to 
herself  at  this  point  in  her  reflections  and  realized 
how  hungry  she  was.  She  hurried  down  the  hill, 
but  her  shoes,  filled  with  water,  retarded  her.  It 
was  still  raining  hard,  but  her  thoughts  lifted  her 
out  of  the  dismal  scene  and  carried  her  forward  to 
the  bright  reconciliation  that  awaited  her.  Just 
before  she  reached  the  Porta  San  Giorgio  a  crazy 
black  thing  scuttled  across  her  path,  bringing  her  up 
short  with  a  gasp  of  terror  and  a  frightened  cry.  It 
clung  to  the  hedge  at  the  side,  quivering  and  flapping 
like  a  huge  bat.  Charlotte's  fear  broke  and  she 
forced  a  laugh.  Her  lost  umbrella !  But  her  heart 
was  beating  fast.  Another  blast  of  wind  and  the 
crazy  thing  flew  down  the  road  ahead  of  her,  seeming 
to  provoke  uncannily  a  chase.  Economy  asserted 


296  GIBBETED  GODS 

itself.  Charlotte  ran  after  the  black  thing,  caught 
it  at  last  triumphantly,  and  then  forced  it  back  into 
shape  with  a  sharp  crack  of  its  ribs.  Then,  holding 
it  over  her  and  tacking  with  the  wind,  she  made  her 
belated  way  back  to  the  city  and  Paddy  and  her 
supper. 

She  entered  the  house  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  The 
door  pulled  from  her  hands  and  slammed  against 
the  wall.  She  forced  it  to  with  difficulty;  the 
preassure  of  the  wind  was  unbelievably  strong.  As 
she  started  upstairs,  she  realized  how  tired  she  was. 
Her  feet  dragged  and  she  had  to  pull  herself  up  by 
the  bannisters.  The  other  rooms  were  all  in  dark- 
ness, but  a  light  showed  under  her  own  door.  She 
put  her  hand  on  the  knob  eagerly,  but  of  a  sudden  a 
strange  unaccountable  trembling  seized  her,  an  un- 
canny apprehension  of  disaster.  She  stood  there 
for  a  second,  dizzy  with  terror,  the  weight  of  the 
fearful  stillness  forcing  the  blood  back  to  her  heart. 
Then  with  an  agonized  certainty  of  tragedy  she 
uttered  a  harsh  cry  and  burst  open  the  door. 

Paddy  was  dead.  She  was  lying  there  on  the 
couch  with  that  same  satisfied  little  expression  on 
her  face  as  of  one  who  has  successfully  put  over 
something  on  somebody  else.  An  empty  bottle  that 
had  once  held  her  morphine  tablets  told  its  story. 
Pinned  to  the  dirty  couch  with  a  safety-pin  was  her 
last  message,  indicating  the  mood  that  had  prompted 


GIBBETED  GODS  297 

her  in  this  her  last  perversity.     In  her  inimitable 
scrawl  she  had  written  with  a  stubby  pencil : 

"Hey  diddle  diddle, 
The  cat  and  the  fiddle, 
The  cow  jumped  over  the  moon! 
The  little  dog  laughed 
To  see  such  sport, 
And  the  dish  ran  away  with  the  spoon, 

spoon,  spoon, 

And  the  dish  ran  away  with  the 
spoon !" 

To  which  she  had  appended  as  an  afterthought: 
"Forsooth,  I  am  a  bunch  of  radish !" 


PART  VII 


PART  VII 
CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  vision  that  had  come  to  Charlotte  on  that 
stormy  night,  the  vision  that  had  carried  her 
back  to  Paddy  with  eager  confidence,  was  to  prove  of 
a  sardonic  irony,  for  it  remained,  during  all  the  weeks 
of  her  agonized  remorse,  to  haunt  her  with  its  in- 
intolerable  message  of  what  might  have  been.  As 
the  turbulence  of  her  wild  regret  settled  with  time, 
the  significance  of  the  truth  that  had  come  to  her  too 
late  became  the  more  poignant  and  left  her  singu- 
larly afraid.  Paddy  had  been  the  dynamic  of  her 
every  action ;  Paddy  had  been  the  vital  force  of  her 
life.  The  future  terrified  her;  in  its  aching  void 
there  lurked  strange  formless  fears.  When  the 
violence  of  her  grief  had  spent  itself,  she  became 
listless,  apathetic.  She  did  nothing,  but  sat  dazed, 
like  one  in  a  trance.  The  drenching  she  had 
received  the  night  of  Paddy's  death  had  again 
brought  on  the  fever,  a  sort  of  malaria  that 
came  and  went  with  fitful  malignancy.  But 
whether  she  stayed  in  bed  or  got  up  seemed  to 

make  little  difference  to  her.     All  her  activities  were 

301 


302  GIBBETED  GODS 

mechanical.  Only  her  sleeplessness  troubled  her, 
for  it  was  in  the  drag  of  the  cold  night  hours  she 
felt  the  uneasy  stir  of  that  sickening  fear.  She 
must  make  an  effort;  she  must  occupy  herself;  she 
must  see  people.  So  she  reasoned  each  night  as  she 
lay  there,  setting  the  next  day  as  the  beginning  of 
her  activities. 

Everything  was  exactly  as  it  had  been  the  night 
of  Paddy's  death.  The  dirty  aprons  were  still  there 
on  the  nail  behind  the  door;  the  important  little 
work-basket,  with  the  cover  that  would  not  shut 
down,  was  on  the  table.  Intolerable  residue  of 
Paddy's  personality!  How  completely  Paddy's 
cheery  blitheness  had  filled  each  crevice  of  her  being 
Charlotte  realized  only  when  its  light  had  been  with- 
drawn and  she  was  left,  shivering  and  desolate,  in  the 
darkness. 

The  people  in  the  house  had  been  kind.  They 
watched  her  and  brought  her  little  things  to  eat,  a 
few  flowers  now  and  then;  but  Charlotte  was  to 
them  essentially  a  controlling  force,  not  a  human 
being  to  excite  pity,  so  eventually  they  had  left  her 
alone  in  her  weary  solitude.  In  time  even  Baldy 
ceased  to  come  scratching  at  the  door  with  plaintive 
whine. 

Yes,  she  must  make  an  effort.  So  she  repeated 
it.  She  would  rearrange  the  two  little  rooms,  remove 


GIBBETED  GODS  303 

Paddy's  things,  do  some  cleaning.  Perhaps  this 
would  help  her  to  a  mental  adjustment,  a  firmer 
grasp  of  facts.  She  'd  have  Paddy's  bed  taken  down 
and  give  it  to  Maria.  Then  she  'd  move  her  own 
bed  into  the  alcove.  The  big  room  she  would  use 
exclusively  as  a  studio,  when  she  began  again  to 
paint.  But  she  knew  her  condition  well  enough  to 
realize  that  she  could  never  hold  herself  down  to 
work.  Very  well,  then,  she  'd  take  lessons.  This 
brought  a  bitter  pang.  She  could  afford  things 
now  Paddy  was  gone.  Poor  Paddy !  And  she  had 
meant  so  to  work  for  her  in  the  future,  to  buy  her  a 
new  coat  and  let  her  have  all  the  money  she  wanted 
for  her  morphine.  Yes,  she  must  take  lessons; 
only  outside  contact  could  save  her  from  herself,  her 
depression.  Yet  it  was  more  than  just  contact  she 
needed;  it  was  the  contact  of  sympathy.  No  one 
had  ever  known  the  real  truth  about  Paddy's  death. 
Death  by  accident!  So  it  was  dismissed.  There 
are  so  many  every  day  among  the  poor.  If  she  had 
had  some  one  to  tell  her  story  to,  some  one  to  meet 
her  need  with  tender  compassion,  her  grief  would 
have  been  less  bitter.  But  she  had  been  so 
alone,  so  tragically  alone,  through  it  all.  She  had 
cabled  Philip  in  charge  of  Tony's  banker.  Even 
a  casual  answer  from  Philip  would  have  meant  some- 
thing, but  the  answer  had  not  come.  Yes,  she  was 


304  GIBBETED  GODS 

alone,  quite  alone.  Perhaps  the  fault  lay  in  herself. 
She  wondered.  With  Paddy  it  was  so  different; 
Paddy  could  never  have  been  alone. 

Paddy's  funeral !  Charlotte  thought  of  that  so 
often.  It  was,  strange  to  say,  a  bright,  vivid  spot 
in  her  mind,  and  she  quickened  always  to  the  recol- 
lection of  it.  A  summer  day  of  deep  blue  sky  and 
balmy  fragrance,  the  Via  Guicciardini  gay  and  astir ! 
Paddy  was  dead.  The  news  had  spread.  The 
older  people  wept  but  their  tears  had  a  glisten  of 
excitement.  Paddy  was  dead!  Paddy  was  dead! 
The  children  told  it  to  one  another  in  the  language 
Paddy  had  taught  them.  Their  eyes  were  round 
and  curious;  there  was  something  strange  about  this 
thing  called  death  that  came  and  took  people  away 
forever,  that  made  them  still  and  white  and  cold 
as  Paddy  was  now.  They  tiptoed  up  to  look  at  her 
with  subdued  awe,  and  Charlotte,  shut  in  the  little 
alcove  room,  was  glad  to  hear  their  pattering  steps 
and  hushed  voices.  In  the  evening  the  older  people 
gathered  in  Francesca's  room.  Charlotte  knew  the 
custom  and  had  given  Francesca  money  to  buy  wine 
for  them  all.  The  noise  of  the  revelry  as  it  came  to 
her  brought  no  sense  of  incongruity.  She  was  glad 
of  that,  too !  Only  in  doing  things  as  Paddy  would 
have  had  them  done  could  she  find  her  strength. 

The  morning  of  the  funeral  the  whole  street  had 
gathered  in  holiday  attire,  of  blues  and  reds  and 


GIBBETED  GODS  305 

yellows.  The  children's  faces  were  washed  and  they 
had  their  funny  little  hats  on.  There  was  a  bustle 
of  preparation  ,  a  hurrying  back  and  forth.  It  was 
as  gay  and  lively  as  the  morning  of  the  Mi-careme 
festivity.  They  crowded  about,  clambering  over 
one  another  into  the  cabs  that  Charlotte  had  pro- 
vided. There  were  so  many  to  go  that  some  of  the 
men  were  obliged  to  trudge  on  foot  behind. 
Giacomo  and  Anton  and  Mr.  Sardelli  and  old 
Giuseppe,  the  hand-organ  man,  brought  the  coffin 
down.  It  was  covered  with  flowers  and  branches  of 
trees.  But  the  children  still  held  tightly  to  their 
flowers  to  put  on  the  grave  themselves.  At  the  last 
minute  Charlotte  had  taken  Baldy,  chattering  and 
whimpering  on  the  sidewalk,  into  the  carriage  with 
her.  Then  the  procession  started.  It  followed  the 
embankment,  turned  and  wound  slowly  up  to  the 
Porta  San  Giorgio.  The  same  route  Charlotte 
herself  had  followed  in  the  rain  only  two 
days  before!  As  they  turned  through  the 
gate,  Charlotte  looked  through  the  window, 
not  at  the  hearse  in  front,  but  at  the  gala 
procession  winding  behind  her.  The  other 
carriages  were  open,  a  bright  blur  of  faces  and  colors, 
of  flowers  and  green  branches!  Paddy's  party! 
They  reached  the  cemetery  and  clustered  in  artless 
groups  about  the  open  grave.  An  unorthodox 
priest,  a  friend  of  Anton's,  had  been  found  to  conduct 


306  GIBBETED  GODS 

the  service.  Leon,  the  old  stone-cutter,  perhaps  the 
most  devoted  of  Paddy's  friends,  had  asked  to 
fashion  the  stone.  A  small  uncut  slab  it  was,  on 
which  he  had  carved  simply  the  word  "Paddy." 
There  were  no  dates,  no  facts.  It  was  as  if  Paddy's 
spirit  were  of  all  time.  So  they  stood  about  the 
grave,  a  bright  vivid  throng,  and  when  the  last  bit 
of  earth  had  been  thrown  in  and  packed  down,  the 
children  swarmed  forward  eagerly  with  their  flowers, 
which  they  piled  about  in  gay  confusion.  The  men 
had  their  hats  off  and  the  women  smiled.  Then  old 
Giacomo  played  on  his  violin  a  Neopolitan  dirge, 
that  yet  held  in  its  minor  wail  all  the  sensuous 
beauty  of  the  Neopolitan  love-song.  Yes,  it  was 
exactly  as  Paddy  would  have  had  it! 

So  Charlotte  lived  over  and  over  in  her  mind  the 
details  of  that  summer  morning.  The  one  bright 
diversion  in  the  days  that  followed  one  another  in 
gray,  dreary  succession !  The  winter  proved  a  cold 
one,  during  which  Charlotte  came  to  realize  that 
in  little  things,  too,  she  had  been  utterly  dependent 
on  Paddy.  It  had  seemed  to  her  Huring  the  years 
they  spent  in  the  Via  Guicciardini  that  Paddy  had 
been  so  absorbed  in  her  own  life  she  had  completely 
forgotten  her.  But  she  came  to  realize  in  those 
bleak  winter  months  how  much  Paddy  had,  in  re- 
ality, ministered  to  her  comfort.  There  had  always 
been  food,  at  irregular  intervals  to  be  sure,  but  still 


GIBBETED  GODS  307 

food, — a  bowl  of  hot  soup  when  she  felt  her  malaria 
coming  on,  a  cup  of  hot  tea  when  she  returned  from  a 
walk  in  the  rain.  And  the  stove!  The  stove  was 
always  aglow,  a  bright,  cheerful  spot  to  come  home 
to.  But  now  the  fire  was  out  most  of  the  time  and 
she  preferred  to  go  to  bed  rather  than  exert  herself 
to  -relight  it.  She  was  continually  remembering  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  that  she  had  had  no  supper, 
only  to  get  up  and  iind  the  bread-box  empty.  She 
could  not  go  on  that  way,  of  course ;  she  must  set  to 
work  and  systematize  her  life;  so  she  kept  telling 
herself.  She  would  begin — to-morrow! 

To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day — 

One  of  Paddy's  favorite  bits  that  she  had  used  and 
misused  at  random!  The  thing  echoed  in  Char- 
lotte's mind  continually.  To-morrow !  The  vague, 
formless  terror  of  it!  And  always  she  was  so  weary 
from  the  lack  of  sleep,  so  weak  from  her  chills  and 
fever. 

The  winter  passed  and  spring  came.  Paddy  had 
been  dead  almost  a  year.  With  that  thought  Char- 
lotte had  forced  a  last  decision.  Her  weakness  of 
resolution  was  beginning  to  frighten  her;  she  had  a 
desperate  sense  that  she  must  do  something  to  pull 
herself  up  short  in  her  treacherous  insecurity. 
Paddy's  anniversary  offered  itself  as  a  definite  issue. 


3o8  GIBBETED  GODS 

That  day,  Charlotte  told  herself,  must  mark  the 
beginning  of  her  new  life.  It  would  be  her  tribute 
to  Paddy,  her  way  of  making  Paddy's  anniversary 
bright  and  distinctive.  The  idea  proved  a  happy 
one,  of '  almost  immediate  tonic  effect.  Charlotte's 
spirits  began  to  rise,  a  little  of  her  old  energy  came 
back.  As  the  day  approached  she  became  almost 
eager.  She  began  to  eat  regularly;  she  went  up  to 
the  villa  and  talked  to  the  old  caretaker.  She 
bought  herself  some  expensive  paints. 

The  day  before,  she  had  risen  early  and  called 
Maria  to  her.  Together  they  had  taken  down 
Paddy's  bed  and  with  Anton's  assistance  carried  it 
to  Maria's  room.  Maria  was  voluble  in  her  grati- 
tude; in  the  end  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  let 
her  come  back  and  help  with  the  cleaning.  Perhaps 
it  was  as  well,  after  all.  Charlotte  took  Paddy's 
aprons  from  their  nail  and  folded  them  carefully. 
She  collected  Paddy's  clothes,  scattered  here  and 
there.  A  dingy  black  skirt,  a  torn  waist,  the  old 
black  shawl, — Charlotte  put  them  away  tenderly 
in  a  drawer.  The  sewing-basket,  too,  she  removed. 
She  and  Maria  wofked  all  day.  Even  Maria  was 
horrified  at  the  dirt  that  had  collected.  They 
cleaned  the  windows  and  scrubbed  the  floor.  The 
dishes  were  washed,  the  pans  cleaned,  the  stove 
polished.  Trie  room  without  the  couch  seemed 
larger  and  lighter.  Yes,  she  ought  to  be  able  to 


GIBBETED  GODS  309 

paint  there  with  comfort.  She  had  gone  to  bed  in 
the  little  alcove  room  that  night  and  for  the  first 
time  in  weeks  she  got  a  little  quiet  sleep. 

The  next  morning  dawned,  bright  and  vivid. 
Charlotte  had  set  the  evening  as  the  time  of  her 
visit  to  the  cemetery.  She  wanted  to  be  there  by 
Paddy's  grave  as  the  sun  set  over  Florence.  The 
day  held  for  her  two  tasks  that,  -with  the  force  of  her 
new  energy,  she  faced  deliberately.  The  first  was 
to  sort  her  pictures.  There  were  dozens  of  them,  all 
unfinished,  mute  reproaches  of  the  past.  In  those 
strange  faces  struggling  out  of  the  blank  of  in- 
completeness she  could  trace  her  own  moods.  These 
fragmentary  bits  of  'her  former  self  carried  the  same 
poignant  message  of  unsustained  effort,  of  un- 
achieved ambition,  of  forgotten  illusion,  as  did  the 
faded  frescoes  afnd  darkened  marbles  of  Florence. 
She  came  upon  Dolly's  picture  at  the  very  last. 
She  had  almost  forgotten  that,  too!  She  looked  at 
it  with  tender  compassion,  and  her  thoughts  swept 
back  to  that  sunlit  grove  in  Laurence  Park.  Dolly 
and  Roger!  Yet  she  was  conscious  as  she  thought 
of  them  that  the  year  had  wrought  in  her  attitude 
toward  them  a  subtle  change.  The  sympathy  was 
there,  the  tenderness,  but  it  was  as  if  she  were  look- 
ing on  at  a  drama  in  the  passion  and  tragedy  of  which 
she  herself  was,  in  no  way  involved.  She  was  thank- 
ful for  this ;  only  in  detachment  from  the  past  could 


310  GIBBETED  GODS 

she  hope  to  work  out  her  future.  She  looked  at  the 
picture  for  a  long  time.  And  as  she  studied  it — the 
translucent  blue  eyes,  the  delicate  features,  the 
golden  hair — it  was  as  if  Dolly  stood  before  her 
with  parted  lips,  waiting  for  the  touch  that  would 
quicken  her  to  life.  A  beautiful  picture!  A  few 
more  strokes  and,  Charlotte  realized  with  tremulous 
joy,  she  would  have  created  a  great  picture.  She 
put  it  on  her  easel  and  looked  at  it  raptly.  To- 
morrow Dolly  would  live  and  she  herself  would 
have  found  her  strength. 

Her  mood  of  exaltation  carried  her  through  the 
morning.  But  in  the  afternoon,  confronted  by  her 
second  task,  she  felt  the  old  restless  depression  again. 
She  intended  to  go  through  Paddy's  trunk  and  then 
put  it  away  somewhere  out  of  sight.  She  dragged 
it  into  the  big  room,  a  trunk  that,  like  Paddy,  had 
seen  better  days.  The  corners  were  all  worn,  the 
clamps  broken,  the  straps  fortified  with  dirty  knotted 
pieces  of  rope;  but,  for  all  its  dilapidation,  it  stood 
confessed,  a  trunk  of  th'e  best  traditions  of  the  Rue 
'de  la  Paix.  It  was  completely  covere'd  with  bright, 
gay  labels  that  opened  up  brilliant  vistas  of  the 
world  of  moneyed  travel.  Charlotte  sat  there  and 
made  out  the  names,  one  by  one.  Assouan,  Khar- 
toum, Bagdad,  Corfu — ,  places  Paddy  had  known  so 
well;  vivid,  throbbing  places;  places  she  herself  had 
once  so  confidently  expected  to  know,  too!  She 


GIBBETED  GODS  311 

felt  suddenly  shut  in,  circumscribed  by  event.  Her 
optimism  of  the  morning  had  quite  gone  now  and  she 
sat  there  the  prey  of  a  bitter  discontent  as  her  mind 
followed  the  brilliant  pageantry  evoked  by  those 
tattered  pieces  of  paper  pasted  on  that  worn  old 
trunk.  At  last  she  roused  herself.  And  Paddy, 
shoddy  little  Paddy,  had  been  the  central  con- 
spicuous figure  of  that  kaleidoscopic  world ! 

She  opened  the  trunk  at  last  with  a  sigh.  Paddy 
had  not  unpacked  it  since  they  arrived;  it  was  a 
question  if  she  had  ever  unpacked  it  since  the  day 
she  had  left  Newport.  Things  had  been  pulled  out 
at  intervals,  of  course,  to  the  reckless  tumbling  of 
what  was  left  behind.  A  medley  of  articles,  cer- 
tainly, as  they  were  disclosed  to  Charlotte's  view — 
bills  of  thirty  years  back,  invitations,  old  yellow 
newspapers,  a  big  package  of  sheets  and  linen,  just 
as  it  had  come  back  from  the  laundry  the  day  they 
left  New  York,  two  more  of  th'e  old  dirty  sofa- 
pillows,  a  variety  of  old  clothes.  There  was  little 
of  significance.  Only  in  the  bottom  of  the  trunk 
was  a  very  fine  filet  luncheon-cloth.  Then  there 
was  a  suit  box.  Charlotte  opened  this.  In  it 
was  folded  away  in  tissue  paper  a  beautiful  mauve 
chiffon  dress,  a  dress  Charlotte  had  never  seen  before. 
She  unfolded  it  gently.  A  fragile,  gossamer  thing, 
yet  it  had  endured  through  the  years  to  bring  her 
now  the  wonder  of  its  fragrant  memories.  The 


312  GIBBETED  GODS 

tears  came  to  her  eyes  and  she  found  herself  weeping 
softly.  At  last  in  all  tenderness  she  folded  the  dress 
back  in  its  box  and  shut  it  away. 

Next  she  came  to  two  pictures,  one  a  painting  of 
Florence  and  its  cypress-trees.     It  was  the  view  one 
gets  on  the  way  to  Settignano  around  the  shoulder 
of   Monte   Ceceri.     An   exquisite   sketch   of   wist- 
ful  suggestion,   the  only   piece   of  Hendy's   work 
Charlotte  was  ever  to  see.     The  other  picture  was 
a  photograph  of  Paddy  and  Hendy,  with  a  date  on 
the  back  some  thirty  years  before.     A  tragic  little 
picture,  so  Charlotte  thought,  viewed  through  the 
gathering  mist  of  years!     Tragic  because  of  the 
very  confidence  in  the  eyes  of  those  two  as  they  now 
met  hers  in  smiling  amusement.    Tall,  erect,  Hendy 
stood  there,  with  all  the  supple  vigor  of  youth  in 
his  easy  attitude.     And  Paddy,  Paddy  was  so  young, 
too,  even  younger  than  Charlotte  remembered  her 
way  back  in  the  beginning  of  her  memory.     Alert, 
bright-eyed,  she  stood  there  and  smiled,  a  chic  little 
French  hat  on  her  head,  her  billowy  dress  caught 
in  a  passing  breeze,  an  absurd  little  parasol  in  her 
hand.     There  was  something  gay  and  confident  in 
that  picture,  as  if  the  happiness  of  those  two  was  so 
strong  it  could  never  pass  away.     Charlotte  put  it 
aside;  she  could  see  it  no  longer,  for  her  eyes  were 
wet  with  tears. 

The  rest  of  the  trunk  held  only  debris.     No,  there 


GIBBETED  GODS  313 

was  one  package  in  the  bottom  she  nearly  overlooked, 
a  package  done  up  in  cotton  and  corrugated  board. 
As  she  started  to  open  it  her  fingers  began  to  tremble 
and  her  eyes  showed  a  strange  fe'ar.  She  knew  what 
she  was  going  to  find.  A  bottle  of  morphine  tablets, 
a  bottle  of  tincture!  She  had  dropped  them  into 
her  lap  with  a  quick  recoil;  then  with  a  quicker 
protest  she  burst  into  passionate  weeping.  Paddy 
had  hidden  those  things  away  long  ago,  and,  when 
the  emergency  she  intended  to  forestall  came,  she  had 
forgotten  them.  Poor  secretive,  careless  Paddy! 
Had  she  only  remembered,  the  theft  with  its  fatal 
consequences  might  never  have  been,  the  bitter  words 
that  had  caused  her  death  would  never  have  been 
uttered.  It  was  the  tragic  uselessness  of  it  all  that 
mocking  ironical  find  now  forced  home  to  Charlotte. 
The  old  passion  of  grief  had  swept  back  upon  her, 
the  old  agony  of  loneliness,  with  its  stir  of  sickening 
fear.  The  day  that  had  dawned  so  bright  of  hope 
was  fading  to  a  tragic  close. 

?Yet  the  sunset,  as  she  watched  it  that  night,  sitting 
by  Paddy's  grave,  had  never  seemed  more  beautiful. 
Florence  lay  below  her,  set  in  the  hollow  of  the  hills, 
yellow,  mystic  Florence.  The  mountains  against 
the  sky-line  were  a  deep  indigo,  their  purple  shadows 
almost  black.  The  sun  drew  to  its  own  warmth  the 
colors  of  the  earth,  leaving  it  dim  and  hushed.  The 
drenched  gray  of  the  olive  trees,  the  somber  purple 


GIBBETED  GODS 

of  the  Judas,  the  mauve  of  the  wistaria  became  all 
a  part  of  the  heaven's  glow  and  the  shadows  of 
night  rested  where  once  their  vividness  had  been. 
Only  the  cypress-trees  remained — definite,  brooding, 
unyielding — and  whispered  defiance  of  the  darkness. 
Paddy!  To-night  for  the  first  time  Charlotte 
found  no  comfort  in  sitting  by  Paddy's  grave.  It 
was  as  if  Paddy  were  no  longer  there,  as  if  her 
spirit  had  flitted  gaily  on  to  some  bright  realm  of 
new  adventure. 

So  it  was,  weeping  in  that  newer  poignancy  of  her 
loneliness,  that  Roger  was  to  find  her.     His  coming 
had  in  it  a  certain  passionate  necessity.     Buchanan's 
fears  for  Dolly  had  been  realized  and  Roger  felt 
himself  no  longer  needed.     He  was  on  his  way  to 
Ceylon  and,  hearing  in  Paris  of  Paddy's  death,  he 
had  come  to  ask  Charlotte  to  go  with  him.    It  came 
down  to  that  in  the  essence,  but,  in  reality,  it  was 
the  cry  of  his  wounded  faith  seeking  to  be  raised  up 
again.     Only  in  each  other  could  they  justify  the 
waste  of  the  years;  only  in  each  other  could  they 
make  of  life  the  fine,  splendid  thing  it  was  meant  to 
be.     Love  was  life;  love  was  law;  love  was  God. 
So  Roger  cried  it  out  with  passionate  conviction  as 
they  clung  together  in  the  darkness.     There  had 
been  no  formality  of  greeting,  no  hesitancy  of  con- 
scious restraint.     That  first  intense  relief  of  dis- 
covery had  carried   them   quite   simply   into   each 


GIBBETED  GODS  315 

other's  arms.  Roger  held  her  to  him,  kissing  her 
hair,  her  eyes,  her  mouth,  and  there  seemed  nothing 
strange  in  it,  only  a  certain  sad  urgency.  Love  is 
life.  And  for  one  little  moment  the  intensity  of 
Roger's  plea  swept  Charlotte  on  to  the  vision  of  a 
glorious  surrender.  But  that  within  her  that  knew 
the  right  was  still  inexorable  and  she  had  turned 
at  last,  weeping,  from  his  kisses.  Roger  was 
Dolly's. 

"I  cannot !     I  cannot !"  she  cried  bitterly. 

So  they  fought  it  out  in  the  darkness  ano?  in  the 
long  struggle  Charlotte  found  her  strength,  a 
strength  sufficient  to  carry  its  splendid  message  of  a 
complete  justice  straight  to  Roger's  heart.  Life 
was  not  love;  life  was  law.  In  the  purity  of  her 
belief,  in  the  fine  quality  of  her  larger  unselfishness, 
Roger  was  to  find  the  answer  to  his  need.  In  that 
moment  of  renunciation  as  she  stood  there  before 
him,  Charlotte  was  to  Roger  more  than  just  the 
woman  he  loved;  she  was  a  beautiful  vision  to  stay 
with  him  always,  to  work  the  renewal  of  his  faith, 
an3  so  to  help  him  on  to  high  achievement.  Char- 
lotte read  her  victory  in  the  strange  softened  light 
that  crept  into  Roger's  eyes,  a  light  reflected  in  her 
own.  A  mood  of  exaltation  held  them  both  for 
a  little  moment,  then  they  fell  apart  with  a  sigh. 

The  moon  had  begun  to  rise  now,  its  wan  radiance 
over  everything.  It  lighted  up  the  little  cemetery, 
the  shadowed  graves,  the  tall  white  stones.  Char- 


316  GIBBETED  GODS 

lotte  drew  Roger  down  by  her  side  on  the  crude 
little  bench  where  she  had  sat  so  often  in  her  loneli- 
ness, and  she  began  to  talk  of  Paddy.  She  told  him 
the  whole  wretched,  sordid  story  of  Paddy's  death 
and,  as  she  wept  softly,  he  held  her  to  him  and  kissed 
her.  Then  in  a  low  voice  he  talked  of  Dolly  and 
he  too,  seemed  to  find  a  strange  relief  as  he  talked. 

"In  her  queer  little  way,"  he  said,  "Dolly  grew: 
to  care  for  me  after  we  were  married.  And  if  I  had 
only  cared  for  Dolly  I  might  have  saved  her.  I  had 
a  feeling  through  it  all  that  if  things  had  been 
different,  if  you  hacl  been  Dolly,  I  could  have  saved 
you." 

Charlotte's  heart  gave  a  strange  throb. 

"Yes,"  Roger  continued,  "I  could  have  saved 
you?' 

He  mused  a  minute  sadly. 

"Poor  little  Dolly!"  he  said.  "She  would  cry 
and  promise,  but  in  the  end  she  guessed  the 
truth,  and  after  that  I  'could  do  nothing  with  her. 
When  the  first  baby  was  born  and  I  told  her  it  was 
dead,  she  cried  and  turned  away.  'If  it  had  been 
Charlotte's  baby,'  she  said,  'it  would  have  lived.' ' 

So  they  talked  on  and  on,  but  as  it  grew  late  a 
weariness  crept  into  their  voices.  The  struggle  they 
had  been  through  was  beginning  to  tell.  Charlotte 
rose  at  last.  Then  with  a  sharp  consciousness 


GIBBETED  GODS  317 

of  tragic  finality,  all  her  confidence  deserted 
her.  As  her  eyes  rested  on  Paddy's  grave, 
that  still  mocked  her  with  its  emptiness,  the 
old  terror  of  the  future,  forgotten  in  her 
high  moment  of  sacrifice,  came  surging  back,  of 
overwhelming  power.  She  broke  into  a  passionate 
weeping  and  clung  to  Roger  in  a  helpless  despair. 
Her  quivering  lips  sought  his  again  and  again  as  if 
seeking  in  their  warmth  a  sanctuary  from  her  fear. 
Roger  kissed  her  tenderly,  sadly  but  with  a  gen- 
erosity born  of  his  new  insight  he  did  not  force  the 
vantage  of  her  sudden  weakness.  The  courage  of 
her  splendid  conviction  was  now  his. 

As  they  walked  back  to  the  city,  her  arm  drawn 
through  his,  they  talked  of  many  things.  She  dwelt 
on  his  painting  and  the  stir  of  the  old  eagerness  was 
in  his  voice  as  he  answered  her.  He  would  do  great 
things  for  her  sake  and  she  was  glad,  glad  that  it  was 
so.  But  there  was  still  a  faint  bitterness  in  her 
heart,  for  she  recalled  those  days  in  the  mountains 
when  she  had  inspired  Roger  to  paint  and  then  had 
sat  by,  restless  and  forgotten — 

As  they  crossed  the  Ponte  Vecchio  Charlotte  began 
to  talk  of  her  early  life  in  Florence.  She  spoke  of 
Hendy  in  all  tenderness.  "He  was  my  father,"  she 
said  simply.  "If  he  had  lived,  things  would  have 
been  so  different."  As  they  passed  the  Duomo  she 
spoke  of  her  childish  experience.  "Life  has  been 


3i8  GIBBETED  GODS 

like  that  with  me,"  she  said.  "I  had  expected  it  to 
be  so  bright  and  vivid." 

Only  once  was  there  mention  of  her  own  future. 

"How  did  you  find  me?"  she  asked. 

"I  got  your  address  from  Philip,  in  Paris." 

"No,  but  here,"  she  pressed. 

"It  was  quite  simple,"  Roger  answered.  "Once 
I  found  the  Via  Guicciardini,  there  were  a  dozen 
people  to  direct  me  to  the  cemetery." 

Charlotte  smiled  at  that.  "I  shall  always  live  in 
the  Via  Guicciardini,"  she  said  quietly.  "It  was 
Paddy's  choice;  it  was  Paddy's  life." 

She  went  on  then  to  speak  of  Paddy's  children. 

So  they  talked.  Their  words  were  casual,  but 
their  voices  were  subdued  and  tense.  Yet  as  they 
walked  on  through  the  silent  moonlit  streets,  the 
strain  of  their  taut  emotions  lessened  gradually  and 
there  came  to  them  both  a  strange  illusion,  as  if  they 
would  always  go  on  just  so.  Fantastic,  unreal  it 
was,  yet  so  completely  did  it  hold  them  in  its  spell 
that  the  actual  parting,  when  it  came,  seemed  the 
illusion.  As  they  stepped  into  the  lighted  station 
they  turned  and  looked  at  each  other.  She  was 
conscious  of  how  thin  he  was ;  he  was  aware  only  of 
her  brilliant,  tragic  eyes.  She  put  her  hand  in  his. 
He  held  it  a  second;  then,  stooping,  he  placed  on  her 
lips  a  kiss,  light,  whimsical  as  that  other  one  so  long 
ago,  the  memory  of  which  held  them  both  as  they 


GIBBETED  GODS  319 

smiled  into  each  other's  eyes  and  said  good-by.  Six 
tragic,  crowded  years  were  bridged  by  that  light  kiss 
that  was,  now  as  it  had  been  then,  all  a  part  of  their 
mooH,  a  part  of  their  illusion,  a  part  of  the  future 
that  flickered  fitfully  as  a  firefly  and  drew  them  on  to 
follow,  wistful  and  wondering. 

But  Charlotte's  fantastic  mood  held  only  for  a 
little  after  she  found  herself  alone.  As  she  walked 
back  through  the  hushed  streets,  the  old  despair 
was  asurge  in  her  heart.  Her  head  throbbed  and 
she  recognized  vaguely  that  numb  ache  in  the  very 
marrow  of  her  bones  that  came  as  inevitable  warning 
of  her  fever.  Another  siege!  She  closed  her  eyes 
to  it.  It  seemed  more  than  she  could  bear.  Once 
home  and  in  bed,  she  gave  herself  up  completely  to 
her  misery  that  was  all  a  dull  physical  suffering  and  a 
harsh  resentment  of  her  lot.  The  warm  memory 
of  Roger's  presence  made  her  loneliness  the  more 
tragic.  As  the  hours  of  the  night  dragged  on,  her 
thoughts  seethed  the  more  furiously  with  the  fever 
in  her  blood.  If  she  could  only  sleep!  If  she 
could  only  sleep!  So  she  cried  as  she  pressed  her 
throbbing  temples  and  tried  to  keep  her  eyelids 
closed.  But  they  fluttered  open  always  to  the  black- 
ness that  was  yet  not  the  blackness  but  a  formless, 
haunting  dread.  Her  resentment  grew  with  her 
pain  and  terror.  In  giving  Roger  of  her  strength 
she  had  drained  her  own.  Roger  would  paint ;  yes, 


320  GIBBETED  GODS 

Roger  would  go  on  and  paint.  So  she  kept  telling 
herself  over  and  over  and  the  thought  was  a  bitter 
one.  She  had  sent  him  away  because  she  believed 
it  right  and  now  she  was  left  alone  in  her  weakness. 
All  her  splendid  confidence,  her  fine  faith  had 
perished.  She  had  believed,  in  right;  she  had  be- 
lieved in  law;  she  had  believed  in  God.  And  what 
had  her  fine  beliefs,  her  unquestioning  allegiance, 
done  for  her?  If  there  was  a  God,  he  was  a 
blundering  one,  a  malicious  one,  a  Setebos  to  create 
and  torment.  Yet  she  knew,  of  a  desperate  cer- 
tainty, she  coul3  never  end  it  all  as  Paddy  had  done, 
for  her  maimed  belief  still  cried  out  against  that 
supreme  defiance. 

Yes,  whatever  ignoble  compromise  she  must  make 
with  life,  she  must  live  on.  That  was  the  sardonic, 
illogical  penalty  of  her  faith.  She  must  live  on,  and 
alone.  Alone,  as  she  was  now  alone,  in  the  darkness 
of  that  little  alcove  room,  a  darkness  full  of  a  dread 
haunting  urgency,  Paddy's  urgency,  her  own  urgency. 
She  knew  it  now.  The  veiled  terror  that  had  been 
walking  beside  her  so  long  had  taken  at  last  its 
tragic,  definite  shape.  She  knew  now  what  she 
wanted.  Those  two  bottles,  out  there  on  the  table, 
were  like  grim  specters  in  the  grayness  of  the  dawn, 
the  dawn  that  was  to  have  marked  the  beginning  of 
her  new  life!  She  rose  at  last,  shivering,  weeping, 
moaning.  A  glass  gave  back  her  image  in  the 


GIBBETED  GODS  321 

dim  light  and  wrung  from  her  a  sharper  anguish. 
She  looked  haggard  and  old  as  she  stood  there  in  one 
of  Paddy's  faded  flannel  nightgowns.  And  as, 
that  night  at  the  villa,  her  own  brilliant  image  had 
faded  to  Paddy's,  so  now  the  blurred  eyes  that  looked 
back  at  her  became  suddenly  Paddy's  eyes,  with  the 
'dumb  pain  of  her  craving  in  their  depths.  With 
a  quick  gesture  Charlotte  seized  the  bottle  of  tablets. 
But  she  was  still  capable  of  a  last  recoil,  and  as  her 
fingers  closed  on  the  bottle  she  threw  it  from  her. 
It  struck  the  stove  and  with  a  shivering  sound  shat- 
tered into  bits.  The  pellets  scattered  and  settled 
about,  little  white  cleadly  spots  on  the  dark  rug. 
Two  of  them  lay  at  Charlotte's  feet;  she  stared  at 
these  wide-eyed.  Then,  stooping  swiftly,  she  swept 
them  into  her  hand  and  raised  it,  trembling,  to  her 
mouth.  She  had  swallowed  them.  She  stoo'd  quite 
still  a  minute.  Then,  with  a  harsh  cry,  she  rushed 
into  the  little  alcove  room,  and,  throwing  herself  on 
the  bed,  she  buried  her  face  in  the  dirty  pillows. 


A     000114377 


